Angel Return, Angel Reborn
by smiles555fofo
Summary: Byakuran killed Tsuna, or did he? FEM27all
1. Chapter 1

This wasn't supposed to happen. Tsuna wasn't supposed to die…not like this. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to continue living; to continue to lead them. As their boss. As the tenth. As the Vongola Decimo. As the kind-hearted leader they looked up to, who they depended on with their lives. The one who they respected and admired. But he was gone. Along with his being went with his smiles, laughter, warm gazes, and his competence of understanding the misunderstood. He never faltered shamelessly and would stubbornly stand back up on his two feet no matter what dire consequences were being inflicted upon the youth. Or how clumsy his feet were. He never wanted to give up hope despite how he was before he was titled to be the head of the powerful mafia.

He was someone special and was dead.

Gokudera Hayato clenched his fists, disregarding the numbing pain that transformed the healthy fleshy color into a pale white. Not that he would have cared. No, he didn't care at all, even if his strength had threatened to cut off his blood circulation. His world had fallen and crashed into a sickening blast when the gun was pulled. Right before his eyes, his precious Juudaime staggered backwards with an unbalanced stance, thus causing the young boss to plummet to the ground and staining it with gushing red liquid.

He wasn't able to protect his Juudaime in time. He let the bullet fly pass him and dig itself into the once beating heart of the boss. He just stood there, doing nothing as the Juudaime gurgled in his own blood, suffocating. He let him die. And he called himself the right-hand man…What an idiot had he been all these years. What would a true right-hand man do when your boss was about to be killed? A true right-hand man would have jumped in the target's way and risk his own life. Nothing mattered as long as your boss was safe. Yes…nothing mattered….nothing matters…

Yamamoto Takeshi absent-mindedly wished for the rain to stop beating down upon the sorrowful group, but then decided against the request seeing how it fitted perfectly for the mood. Tears, whether shed or unshed, not only stained the cheeks of fellow friends and allies but also the earth. Rain was like tears that the sky would allow to cascade. Rain. Sky. Yamamoto inwardly chuckled, but it was merely a dry and sad one that differed from his original laughter. He wondered, since Tsuna was not alive at the moment he must be already in the heavens weeping alongside everybody else.

"Tsuna, do you see us from up there?" Yamamoto thought. He wondered, was he really crying right now with them? Tsuna must be. He is up in the heavens crying. That must be why the skies are weeping. Was that why at every death of a beloved the skies would weep? Because they would no longer be with their loved ones' sides? That they hoped they could have a chance to properly say a goodbye? That it pained them to look down to see the depression that burned within them? That depression, that burning, intense feeling, was like a fire. A dark, dreading fire that flickered within the hearts of others; and as the skies brought forth rain it was the rain that was to put out that flame. But Yamamoto, even as the Rain Guardian, knew that this rain was not able to wash away every fire.

"It was my fault…" Gokudera muttered, staring at the black coffin. "If I…I should have died instead of him. Now he's gone."

"Not just you. The blame belongs to all of us," Yamamoto said.

"I was _right _there. If only I just reacted in time, then Juudaime would have never suffered like this."

"No, but he would have suffered anyway. He would be brooding about _your _death."

"Better me than him," Gokudera spat bitterly.

Yamamoto didn't reply; he continued to watch the fragile form of the lifeless Tsuna.

Dokuro Chrome hiccupped violently; her visible eye reddened from her uncontrollable bewailing from the past few nights. Again, she attempted to stifle it, but a bawl escaped form her feeble lips. Weak, pathetic, useless…_She_ was weak, pathetic, and useless. The boss…the boss died and she was not there to do anything! Strangely, Mukuro did not say anything to her, no matter how many times she called out his name. There was an eerie silence that divided the two individuals, as if something muffled the illusionist's voice. She did not hear a single word from him ever since her eyes landed on the boss's body.

"Hurry, Chrome. You must hurry!" was what Mukuro had whispered into her ear before the horrifying sight had encountered her vision. So that was why Mukuro had ushered her to do so…but she was too late. The boss was dead, and Chrome wondered if this was also a dreadful event for Mukuro, but she couldn't visualize it. The man was still yet a mystery to her, thus she inquired to herself what had dragged him to silence. Was he agonizing? Did he feel at loss? But…that was quite impossible…

Sasagawa Kyoko bit down her trembling lip as she watched both Chrome and Haru crying. Would she cry as well? It would be completely normal if she would have unleashed the water behind her pupils that was ready to explode to thick streams, but somehow a bridge was built for a better purpose. She reached the shoulders of each girl and brought them close to her chest. For a little while, she could feel the warmth emanating, melting the shivering girls. It was raining and the droplets were like ice, but they all felt a certain warmth that they could name. It wasn't a physical heat, but a fluttering sensation that surged in their hearts: hope.

Hope. That's what Kyoko always admired about Tsuna. He was trampled on countless of times, yet refused to give up. It wasn't arrogant stubbornness that motivated Tsuna, but it was a stubbornness that urged him to protect his friends and family. He was somewhat like a weed to her, but never in any resentful way. His determination never wilted and his roots were strong beneath the dirt, hiding away any other undiscovered amazement. What a change, Kyoko mused, that the Tsuna she remembered in their first year of middle school appeared average and pegged to be "Dame-Tsuna" because of his lack of athleticism, intelligence, and importance. Oh how she have overlooked Tsuna! Tsuna…he had evolved throughout the years. He bloomed. And his hopes had strengthened Kyoko in many ways. So that is why she must not loose and continue to hope. For him.

Miura Haru sniffled and tightened her grip on the sleeves of the two who were willing to shoulder her sorrows. Comfort was what she needed, but it truly wasn't enough to heal her aching heart after finding out the death of Tsuna. But she knew that in time, she would get better. She had to. She couldn't burden everyone with her childish blubbering; she would have to grow stronger. That's what Tsuna would want. However, it was difficult not spluttering out whimpers.

Haru nearly jumped in shock when she heard whimpers louder than the pitter-patter of the rain, but relaxed when she saw that it was Lambo who was making the noise. Eleven-year-old Lambo stood alone, soaked to the bone with his face slightly flushed—from crying. Then I-Pin was walking to his side and touched his hand. He flinched, but reluctantly reacted, and soon the two had their fingers interlocked. It was as if they were trading warmth themselves like how the women were doing.

"T-Tol—er—ate…" Lambo whispered. His hold that latched with I-Pin's constricted, and the girl returned the same amount of pressure in a reassuring manner.

"Lambo," I-Pin murmured.

Haru tore away from the group hug, holding the wrists of the two and led them towards the children. She spread her arms upon Lambo and I-Pin, embracing them. Chrome and Kyoko naturally did the same. Soon, the huddle broke into a wild bewail.

Sasagawa Ryohei openly howled, his arm pressed against his eyes. Dino and Bianchi gazed at the coffin. Fuuta buried his face in his palms. Fellow mafia leaders who were well acquainted or shared a typical friendship with Tsuna had attended the funeral, all feeling an emptiness that couldn't be properly filled ever again. Everybody was mourning, all but one in particular.

Hibari Kyoya turned his head away in disgust. So many slobbering herbivores crowding and sobbing like idiots. How repulsive. Especially the crowding. Hibari was known for his distaste for crowds, so he was situated on a high branch of a tree. The leaves managed to keep him mostly dry, though he was often sprinkled with water whenever the wind would rustle the vegetation. It was a good spot, and he was participating the funeral in respect. The pathetic herbivores—Guardians—who have failed to protect the other herbivore—Tsuna—somewhat irritated Hibari in a way after learning about the brunette's death. Were they actually _that _weak? Not being able to stop a single bullet?

Hibari grounded his teeth in minor frustration, not able to comprehend what vulnerable point that Tsuna had performed in front of the enemy to be able to be shot by a simple gun. After all these years, the herbivore shouldn't have been that idiotic to be killed in such way. The intense training the infant had placed upon the young man, nearly bringing the poor soul to chaotic death. Well, he is dead already. But to die in such pitiful way?

Speaking of which, who was the one who had pulled the trigger again? Remembering the letter the dark man had received during his mission, which had informed him of the traumatic event, he dug into the bosom of his suit and pulled out the already-opened envelope. Rereading the letter, Hibari tucked it back, not heeding to scan the rest of the words.

Byakuran killed Tsuna.

Ah, he remembered now. During his mission when he was reading the message, he vowed on one thing: he was sure that it would be his hands that would kill that white-haired freak Byakuran. Not that Hibari had a liking towards the Vongola, but there was a queer feeling telling him that it was his duty to "discipline" the daring bastard. Byakuran is the daring bastard, thus in need of disciplining. And Hibari was sure to give it to him.

Indeed that the other Guardians would be eager to assist in the assassination if they ever were to find out, which they won't. But if they did, surely they would do it in order to avenge the herbivore's death. Would Hibari go out to kill Byakuran so that he may take his revenge? Hibari would have scoffed at the idea. Him. Take revenge for the _herbivore_? Ridiculous. He just wanted to quench his thirst to bring forth the punishment the bastard deserved.

But…why did he want him to suffer so much? He never had felt this way before. The immense anger that disturbed him ever since he discovered the truth. It was a foreign feeling. Of course Hibari had experienced deep anger, but it was only activated when it was circulating only himself. He never thought twice when it came to friends, family, anything. Only he mattered; everybody else was mindless herbivores. So why? Why was he so intent in disciplining Byakuran ever since he killed Tsuna?

As the aggravated man sought for an answer, any answer that would satisfy his rising irritation and hopefully distract him from mingling thoughts, the rain continued to beat down sharply. If they remained in the icy shower for a while, they would surely catch an unwanted illness.

But that didn't matter.

Nothing matters.

"Shit," Gokudera grumbled. "Shit."

* * *

For the past two weeks from when the funeral had ended, the skies still have not cleared. In the blue atmosphere's place hovered a dreary gray shadow, lingering where the sun should be shining. For that many days, there was without a trace of pure white rays warming the coldness. Days were chilly and unpleasant, and people began complaining for the arrival of the sun to break through the hateful winter clouds.

Apparently, the weather had also increased the awkward tension in the mansion of Vongola. The members were not able to see each other directly in the eye for they were afraid of confessing the dark loneliness that prickled their nerves. Who would have thought that without Tsuna, life in the abode was just…lifeless? It was as if he was the main source of light that supported each and every one of them.

Sasagawa on his third day of the second week nearly went mad when the tensions were becoming worse. The usually energetic man was not apprised of the non-extremeness that lingered in the air. It wasn't healthy, but it was understandable. He too was naturally adapted to the tension, but this had to stop. They couldn't sit around and continue to mope! They needed to do something!

But what?

If Sawada Tsunayoshi was here, he would know what to do. Sawada would stand before them. Sawada would lead them. Sawada would do whatever it takes to take away the depression. Sawada…Sawada…

He was not Sawada.

He was not their loving leader. He was not Sawada. He did not posses the same smiles. He was not Sawada. He could not resist talking back to Gokudera. He was not Sawada. He was underestimated for his quirky behavior.

He was not Sawada.

But he did share a few relations with him. They both had a desire to protect those who they love. They wanted to smile despite the tough circumstances. Sometimes even Sawada would blow a fuse whenever Gokudera does something impulsively stupid—like getting himself into an incredibly unnecessary argument with _everyone._ And he too was frequently overlooked due to his fragile exterior. But Sasagawa knew that beneath that meek appearance laid a radiant of _extreme. _He wouldn't be hesitant to admit to declare that Sawada was an extraordinary person with extreme power and strength. Not that Sawada could give a punch that would send a man flying to the hospital, but his determination was admirable to the extent.

And it was obvious that everybody loved Tsuna.

But perhaps it was going a bit too far.

Sasagawa walked in the hallways, feeling uneasy by the oddly empty and quiet corridor. Usually the hallways were filled with loud and busy maids and servants, but the bustling folks seem to have vanished into thin air.

Shaking his head to release the weariness, Sasagawa sighed and continued walking. Suddenly he stopped, his tracks halted when he saw through the window a figure standing alone in the rain close to the outskirts of the gardens. There was an uncanny resemblance of that octopus-head and that figure, and when he narrowed his eyes to concentrate on what that idiot was doing, he gasped.

Gokudera was solemnly staring upwards at the sky, and pulled out a sleek black object from the bosom of his suit. A gun.

"Damn. Extreme damnation," Sasagawa cursed. He raised his fists to bring forth a blow upon the thick windows, a few shards slicing his fingers and cheeks. He leapt out and rushed to the bomb-wielder, who was slowly elevating the weapon to his head. "Stop!" he yelled. "Stop!"

Sasagawa snatched the gun, throwing it far, and was received a punch on his lower jaw. Gokudera bit down his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood to dribble down his chin. "What the hell do you think you're doing!"

"I should be the one asking you that," he snapped back.

"Shut up, I don't want to explain to a shit-head like you," the octopus-head snarled.

This sparked Sasagawa's anger. Furious, he accelerated Gokudera on his back from two feet of where he was originally was standing. Gokudera caressed his bruised cheek while glaring at the man, and then slowly got back up on his feet. But while doing so, Sasagawa spat, "Do you think Sawada would appreciate seeing you in the after life?"

Gokudera's glare hardened. "Don't talk about Juudaime like you know him."

"Bastard," he grumbled. "I do know him! He's my friend to the extreme! And I know that he wouldn't want you to die. Not like this."

The Italian-Japanese man glowered, but his eyes lowered to the ground. "You don't know that," he muttered.

"I know that Sawada wouldn't want you to die," Sasagawa said with confidence.

"Fuck. Shut the fuck up, bastard! I don't need you to talk for him!" Gokudera continued to bite down on his cut lip until small red beads of blood stained and mixed with the rain on his suit, making a pale pinkish tint. "You don't know how hard this is for me."

Sasagawa was about to retort another comment about how Tsuna's death was inflicting everybody, but withdrew the venomous bark. He paused, realizing that Gokudera was taking the tragedy the hardest. After all, he—the right-hand man—was not able to save Tsuna from a single bullet. But not only that, Tsuna was the first person the man had opened his heart to. How difficult was life without your most precious person—the one who accepted who you are and risked his life for yours.

But still…About to commit suicide? "Don't be reckless. Would you like it if Sawada killed himself if _you _were dead?" Sasagawa watched as the younger man's fists trembled. He wondered if Gokudera was debating on whether leading the mindless battle physically again or bolt pass him just to grab the gun. Whatever he was anticipating, Sasagawa prepared himself.

Unexpectedly, Gokudera replied with a muttered, "He wouldn't do that."

"What makes you so sure?"

"…He's the Vongola Decimo. He wouldn't abandon his family because he has to lead them. Without him…"

"Without him, people would want to go committing suicide?" Sasagawa suggested.

"It would have been better if…"

"If you died instead of him?"

"Damn, shut the hell up, lawn-tard," Gokudera groaned irritably. "Couldn't you let me die in peace?"

Sasagawa eyed the gun that slowly sank in the mud behind him. "…What part of 'peace' would you gain that way?" He ran his cold fingers through his wet hair, remembering the rain that they were standing underneath. "You're an idiot to the extreme."

"…Jackass."

"Rethink about what you said previously. Sawada wouldn't kill himself because he couldn't abandon his family…If you died; wouldn't that mean you were abandoning your family as well?"

Gokudera's answer held no hesitance; it was a firm reply. "It doesn't matter; we have no leader."

"Are you that hopeless?"

"What hope do we have now?"

The falling water plummeted upon the duo, but the shower lightened during the few minutes of silence. The bruises became visible as the blood on the Italian-Japanese man's lip was washed away, though the stain on his suit waned into a faint pink. The boxing-experienced fighter drifted his eyes back to the gun, observing how the rain had created a glimmering shine on its metal shell.

What are they to do now? Who is to take over the role of their leader? Sasagawa knew very well that Gokudera would not accept anyone else besides Tsuna, but that didn't mean they should sit around moping. True, Tsuna was the best leader they could ever have, and it would be entirely different without him. Even Sasagawa wanted refuse any other person who dare replace him. But what could they do now? What other purpose do they have left?

"Revenge."

Gokudera lifted his head in surprise.

"What else can we do now?" Sasagawa buried his face into his wrinkled palms. "True…we have lost hope, but perhaps we shall regain it by avenging his death?" His voice was strained and uncertain. Had the strong man now been deterred? Convinced that all is lost?

"Revenge," Gokudera repeated the word. "Against the Millefiore."

* * *

Chrome staggered to her bedside, and collapsed onto her knees. She felt exhausted, yet had not received any exercise or training. It was due to lack of slumber. The young woman attempted to reach to Mukuro, but failed every time. Determined that if she continued this practice, then perhaps the man would reply back, but so far after spending hours meditating there was no reply.

Days, weeks, and she never heard a word from him. What had become of Mukuro? Was he still conscious or was he not? What was his whereabouts? Certainly he couldn't be encased in the abyss of a prison like before, not after the trouble the boss had to go through freeing the Italian. She knew that Mukuro wouldn't desire being a burden by performing a pathetic act as being tossed back into chains, and she was aware that he despised exile.

Chrome now had her own will without Mukuro taking over her body every now and then because of the individuality established; however, they were still connected through their thoughts. Whenever the female was cornered by danger, Mukuro would alert her. Whenever she found herself in a meddlesome situation, Mukuro would direct her. That man was always with her even when she had no clue where he was standing at the moment. If she could hear his deep voice whispering in her mind, she was reassured and calm. But now without him, hysteria was rising within her.

Weariness grasped onto her. Her eyelid was heavy, and she rapidly blinked in order to stall a few seconds of consciousness. Despite the countless times she had tried, Mukuro didn't reply. She struggled to hear his voice and fought against the urge to faint into blissful sleep. Where was he? Chrome was incredibly worried, and would drown herself in denial—that Mukuro was safe, just merely too busy to bother thinking about her. But all this time…was she just wasting time?

"I give up," she groaned to the nothingness. "It's useless."

She accepted her conscious to slip, and she fell into slumber that her body had waited impatiently for. Her back was shifted comfortably against the bedside laden by the soft blanket that lay limply on the bed, dangling out like how a dog would loll its tongue happily. Her thick eyelashes brushed against her skin and visualized a black void as soon as her eye had closed.

The black void then became a flurry of white and green. It was drawn out like a hurricane tumbling through a mountain full of trees and bushes, sucking in the clouds and mists. A burst of red flare leaped and joined in the chaotic fray; the vibrant color added distorted the wan white and green into a dull grayish hue that spewed out bright blue pearls. The process reoccurred, and Chrome watched the strange cycle again many times. The picture was centered on the peculiar object that swirled in front of her, yet she was not affected by the actions at all. It was a vision that awakened her senses naturally. The dream held no purpose or was clear, but when were dreams ever sensible? Therefore, Chrome observed idly, only having it memorized for its quaint art.

Suddenly, there was an abrupt halt of the movements of the hurricane. The picture vanished and dispersed into a hazy, purple fog, and there stood a silhouette in amidst. Chrome felt her skin prickle from the chilly temperature, but was not fazed with bewilderment. However, a gasp echoed the emptiness, the origin of the soft sound escaped from her mouth when the silhouette became clearer. Her eye widened and her body trembled.

"No," she stammered. "N-no!"

Mukuro dragged his body closer to where she stood. His face was lathered in blood as his hair was drenched in it. His clothes were tattered, and his skin was close to shreds. Limping, grunting, moaning, and panting from pain that shocked his entire body with each small step. Mukuro's lips were curved downwards into a disdained frown, and would open whenever he coughed blood, staining himself even more. His red and blue eyes were withdrawn; the light of what indicated life was dimming. From what Chrome had remembered, he was paler than before.

"Ch-Chrome," he muttered.

She held her breath.

"…a-away…away. S-stay away…f-from—from…"

The woman shut her eye tightly, shutting away tears. The male before her…Mukuro appeared as a boy she had encountered when they first met. He was shorter; he didn't have a ponytail; he was younger; he's apparel was that of a certain school uniform. One thing that was an exception was that he was bloodied by his wounds.

The trident in his feeble grip fell beside him as his balance toppled over. The boy violently shook, and a gush of bloody vomit painted the grounds and his mouth. Chrome choked on her own shock and staggered backwards away from the horrifying image. She became afraid—afraid of what monster pulverized Mukuro.

But wasn't this just a dream?

No…a nightmare.

"M-Mukuro-sama?" Chrome whimpered.

"…him and…y-you m-must..."

"M-Mukuro-s-sama!" A large tear slid down her cheek, and followed by another. She swiped away the foolish waterworks and forced her legs to move towards the helpless youth.

"An angel…p-protect the a-ange—"

As Chrome was about to bend down by his side, his form broke down into black pieces of rats and flies. In his lying place stood a devilish smirk that sent shivers down her spine; above the smirk were two sinister eyes of an owl. Two red and blue owl eyes glinting ominously.

Confused, frightened, and hysterical, Chrome screamed.

"Chrome-chan! Chrome-chan! Are you okay?"

Everything looked blurry, and gravity felt heavier than ever. She heard a groan, and then realized that it was her groaning. She brought her palm to her only eye and tiredly massaged the muscle. Then she pulled back when she felt her forehead damped with sweat; she could feel her cheeks burning.

"Chrome-chan, please unlock the door!"

That was woman's voice. But whose? Chrome breathed in slowly, and then breathed out slowly. Exhausted, her attempt on getting up on her feet was no different than an infant waddling on hew own soft flesh. Chrome nearly tripped, but managed to catch herself in time and to the door. When she unlocked the door and opened it, she was surprised to actually see her female companion standing in front of her doorway, her expression strained with fret.

"Chrome-chan, are you okay? I heard you scream and I ran here as fast as I could!" Kyoko babbled like a worried-mother. "Oh, you look terrible! Have you been sleeping regularly? You're not ill, are you?"

Chrome blinked. "K-Kyoko-san? W-what are you doing here?"

"What? O-oh, well I was going to ask you something, but I'm not sure if I should. Are you feeling well?" Kyoko asked again.

"I'm fine, just experienced a nightmare." And what a dreadful nightmare it was. "What did you need me for, Kyoko-san?"

"Ah, well if it's not too much trouble, would you mind accompanying me to Tsuna-kun's grave?"

Chrome blinked again. "Not at all."

Two women were dressed warmly to head outside. Since it wasn't raining today for once, Kyoko thought it might be the best chance to visit Tsuna, and also decided if her friends wanted to join as well. Unfortunately, Haru had caught a cold due to standing out in the freezing weather, Bianchi had plans, and I-Pin was too focused on her training that Kyoko didn't have the heart to disturb her. She knew that Chrome wasn't occupied with anything, so she might be able to come with her.

The grave was hidden somewhere within the forest of the Vongola territory; everybody agreed that Tsuna shouldn't be buried in case if his younger version would be blasted with the Ten-Year Bazooka and should be kept somewhere safe. However, most believed that it would be a rare possibility that the boss would be hit by the bazooka. Gokudera insisted that Tsuna might be hit and actually argued about it, thus the coffin was left alone.

The walk to the grave was quiet, anything but awkward. In fact, the two women were deeply thinking of their own troubles that lingered in their minds for a while. Chrome, of course, thought about the nightmare she dreamt and if it was delivered by Mukuro as a message. Kyoko wondered how much longer will it be for everybody to recover and, if possible, that Tsuna really would return to them with his ten-years-ago self. And if Tsuna really would be sent into the future, what then? What if they missed the opportunity of seeing him when the five minutes are up? But what if they do see him? And what would they say to him? Would they mention his death? Would they alert him of the dangers he would come to face?

"K-Kyoko-san," Chrome murmured.

"Yes?" Kyoko turned to Chrome with curiosity.

"You…look troubled."

"Eh?" Kyoko laughed to shake off the nervousness. "Well, yeah, I suppose that I am."

Chrome tilted her head. "What's troubling you?"

Sasagawa's sister lowered her eyes to the ground, watching her boots step over the muddy puddles. She thought about how tensed her brother was as the days passed. One day he came home and caused her to worry when she noticed his suit was soaked and a bruise on his jaw. He was agitated as well, and when she asked when what had occurred, he forced a smile and assured her that nothing was wrong. He told her that he ran into a gang and simply caught up onto a fight. But it was more than that. Kyoko saw the tremble of his fingers and the way his eyes would turn into a hard glower.

"I think," Kyoko said, smiling, "that ever since Tsuna died, everything is becoming out of hand. I can very well see that Tsuna was someone incredibly important in our lives."

"Everybody was happy when he was still here," Chrome mumbled.

"Yes. Everybody had nothing to be sad about because everybody was alive." And that they had nothing to loose at that time. Kyoko remembered faintly of how her brother would exclaim loudly and proudly while Gokudera would start an argument. Yamamoto would cheerfully try to calm down the battle going on between the other two while Tsuna would iredly sigh from the childish chaos going on in front of him. But it was still fun. It was fun. It was like a memory that happened years ago when it only stopped in a few weeks.

"It's not as noisy in the Vongola mansion anymore," Chrome stated.

"Yes," she sighed. "It's as if hope is lost for good."

"Haru-san, Kyoko-san, and I would still be happy because we won't give up on hope."

Kyoko stared at Chrome with bewilderment. "Chrome-san, that time before at the funeral, when we all hugged…did you feel that too?"

"I did."

"Tell me, what exactly did you feel?"

Chrome smiled for the longest time. "Something warm: hope."

Kyoko nodded. "I wonder if Haru-chan felt that as well."

"I'm sure she did."

"I'm sure that you're right."

The coffin came into view. There were fresh flowers lying against the black object that encased the body of Tsuna. Kyoko wondered if Gokudera or Yamamoto had visited him before they did. Those two were close friends of his; they even had the same classes together in middle school and high school. She figured that Gokudera had threatened the principal with dynamite to place them in the same class, and she inwardly chuckled at the thought. It was very much like Gokudera.

Gokudera was always protective of Tsuna, almost in a worshipful way. Yamamoto was protective of Tsuna too. They reminded her of her brother who was alert of what danger would be heading towards her way. Her brother wants to keep her safe from harm and loves her so very much. Kyoko loves her brother too and would be incredibly sad if he was injured. Gokuedera and Yamamoto must feel the same way.

"I wonder if Gokudera-san or Yamamoto-kun was here," Kyoko said, "and placed the bouquet here."

"Maybe Dino, Bianchi-san, Fuuta…or Lambo-kun and I-Pin-chan was here?" Chrome suggested.

"Perhaps. I'm not sure if Hibari-san would bother coming here though."

"He is rather busy."

Kyoko nodded.

Two pair of eyes absent-mindedly stared at the box. Kyoko blinked out of her daze and her eyes wandered to the flowers. They were a bundle of tiny blue blossoms: forget-me-nots, if Kyoko remembered correctly. Her mother used to grow some in her garden and place a couple into a vase. She would sometimes tell her about the days when Kyoko's father would hand a blossom to her mother before he would venture overseas.

Forget-me-nots meant "remember me forever". How ironic, that somebody wanted Tsuna to remember that person, but he was dead. Possibly it would be pointless to give him a symbolic beauty when he couldn't even see them for himself. But his soul was probably watching. His soul could be in the heavens and witnessed the sender's flowers. That could be it.

Kyoko sighed aloud and glanced at Chrome. Had she been thinking who could have brought the flowers as well? Not that Kyoko would have expected her to. Chrome was a Guardian, thus be thinking of far more important things. To ponder and to perceive and to accept what goes around her. If it was Kyoko, she might crack under pressure and run away from the duty of a Guardian.

Chrome narrowed her single eye in concentration, divulging her apprehensiveness. Before Kyoko could inquiry her curiously, Chrome paled. "Impossible," she whispered. "An illusion?"

"Chrome-chan?" Kyoko furrowed her eyebrows.

She continued to whisper, her eye widening and her expression baffled. "No, not an illusion. A substitute…but how?"

"Chrome-chan, what's wrong?" Kyoko asked, trying to calm her frantic self. "Is there a problem with the coffin?"

"Kyoko-san, we must go back. There is something I must tell the others."

* * *

"Still not aware of the decoy we had placed as a substitute for the Vongola Decimo," Irie Shoichi said. "It appears that his family is too traumatized abut his 'death' to inspect the body any further."

"Out of respect," Byakuran decided.

"Yes. But I believe that one of the Guardians is sensing a difference in the decoy and the actual body. Should we do something?"

"Nah, let him continue to probe his own thoughts, and then accuse us of being liars."

Irie wanted to inform Byakuran that _he_ was the one who was the liar, but decided against the retort. If he told him that, Byakuran would tease him, leaving Irie flustered without a comeback. Byakuran would win in _anything. _

Irie sighed. A few days before the young boss's death, he wondered how much longer till the activation of the Vongola Decimo's plan. He was a trusted ally, though that knowledge of his loyalty was oblivious to many with the exception of Tsunayoshi. Originally, Tsunayoshi planned on notifying his Cloud Guardian the collaboration, but decided against it for reasons unknown to Irie. Perhaps it was because the Vongola Decimo believed it would be a risky chance and would create a path of endangerment for his family, even if Hibari was a powerful and trustworthy warrior.

Unfortunately, it was apparent that Hibari should have been well-informed of the regulations. The entire plan was foiled; Byakuran's conspiracies had dominated, leaving the further future hopes futile. Now what was the bespectacled man supposed to do? Was it up to him to carry out the plans?

"Ah, don't be upset about being a liar, Sho-chan!" Byakuran chirped cheerfully.

Irie sighed again. "Should I clarify about the test subject's condition?"

"Nope. I want to see him for myself."

"Um…about that." Irie uneasily pushed the glasses upwards. "There was an unforeseen reaction—the chemicals injected into the body had infused the biological genes. Strangely, it left the body with a…a troublesome condition. And also, an animalistic form as well."

Byakuran still haven't slowed down his pace. "How troublesome?"

"Well, for one, rather than scanning the mentality of the brain, searching for the hints of weakness of the Vongola family, it evolved the exterior appearance. Apparently, one of the scientists thought it wouldn't disturb the project by implanting bird—swan, likely—mutation upon the shoulder blades."

"What about those biological genes? How much did it affect the body?"

"Oh, um, the infusing left the body as a…a hermaphrodite."

Byakuran chuckled. "So what counterpart is he or she?"

Irie looked uncomfortable. "I wasn't informed of that."

"Well then, like how I planned before, I'll see the subject myself."

The tall twin doors were swung open and the two men walked in. The room was dimmed with little light; the only source that pushed away the darkness was the electricity from the computers and the generators. Also the glowing bluish liquid that was housed inside a cylindrical glass tube that held the height of ten feet as the width was approximately two yards. The scientists, who were clothed in white coats, glanced at the two, and then returned back to their work stations.

Inside the tube was a humanoid form that taken the appearance of a delicate child—probably in the teenage range. The alien was in the center of wires that twirled around its petite figure, a vague similarity of ribbons embellishing a gift, as a mask that was connected by a pipe covered the mouth and nose. Eyes were closed. Thin wrists bounded with bulky shackles. Arms and knees were tucked closely to the flat bare chest. A pair of grotesque limbs layered in pale fur-like substance that was attached to the upper back; the limbs shielding the lower half of the body. The feathery silk upon the child's head danced heavily in the liquid; the hair was lengthened to the mid-section of the back.

Byakuran smiled. "So it's a girl."

"It seems so," Irie sighed.

"I'm not sure if it's possible to allow the continuation of the research. But then again, I would like to know how the mutation and the biological infuse progressed to this," Byakuran mused. "Whose idea was it to implant the mutation?"

"Erm, one of the four men who became an experiment under Iris Hepburn," Irie read from the clipboard. "The Death Stalk Unit."

"Interesting. Too bad he became a crazy muscle monster only dedicated to that woman," he chuckled. "Anywho, the question that have been lingering in my mind for now—what is to do with _her_?"

Irie licked his dry lips nervously. What is to do with the test subject? Would Byakuran toss the _girl _away? Seemingly useless now, there is nothing else to work on. However, despite the figuration, would the brain still be capable to operate normally? Or, because of the swan mutation, the test subject had obtained animalistic characteristics that influenced greatly on the mentality?

If the brain waves were unstable, then that would conclude the abrupt halt of the continuation, thus leaving the Vongola family in, temporarily, safe hands. Nevertheless, Irie might be able to buy time to create collaboration with the Decimo's Guardians to defeat Byakuran, after he successfully persuades them of his loyalty, that is. Obviously, obtaining their cooperation and trust would be a challenge.

But if the brain waves _were _stable, hence the research goes on, what other task does Irie needed to accomplish? What would the Decimo request him to do? If the Millefiore boss manages to take over the other mafia family, everything would be over. Could Irie secretly form an alliance without the white-haired youth's notice? Would that even be possible to achieve?

"Sawada Tsunayoshi is still alive, but his—her family is not aware of this fact, of course. Probably this can be used against the Vongola?" Irie hesitatingly offered.

"But would they accept it? The Decimo is now in a frail form of a child, having a lower female counterpart, and has wings. Would they believe that this person is their boss?"

"Well, her conscious has or has not had original memories as their leader, and her appearance resembles her male part. And telling the Vongola of the project would likely cause them to believe of such."

"They also might think that we're trying to trick them by using a fake."

Irie merely shrugged.

Byakuran smiled again, his eyes focused on the fascinating version of Tsuna. "I haven't recovered from my astonishment of how the progression left Sawada Tsunayoshi as a hermaphrodite. Her chest is rather flat, though I suppose that indicates her childish innocence. Her face is more cherubic than I recalled," he mused.

Irie saw Byakuran's observations and was surprised. "Yes, I see," he said after a pause. "Though I find it queer that wings were added to the project."

"I think it makes her appear like an angel."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Thank you! Thank you for reviewing! Just recently I read Katekyo Hitman Reborn for fun, and instantly fell in love with the characters!

Thank you to:

**CHOCOCANDYZ**

**doremishine itsuko**

**Sillvog**

**view view**

**Queen Phamtomhive**

**Milisant**

**jestie kiryuu **

You guys were really encouraging! Thank you so much!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. DUR.

**Notes: **This is a drama and adventure. But due to Tsuna's transformation, it will also be a mixture of science-fiction and fantasy.

**Warning: **Transformed Tsuna and Female Tsuna.

* * *

"He tried committing suicide three times already," Yamamoto said.

"This is really hard for him, isn't it?" Dino said. "And it's been more than three weeks."

"His first attempt was stopped by sempai, his second—myself, his third—his failed attempt when he slipped and fell into unconsciousness. I'm not sure if I can take it anymore if he tries his fourth."

"His condition is becoming worse."

"Yeah…There is no guarantee that he would cease his struggles."

"Would it be best to send him to a mental institution?"

Yamamoto didn't answer. He buried his head into his hands and closed his eyes; pondering. Gokudera always wore an apathetic expression on his face ever since, even when he's trying to take his own life away. It seemed like it has been decades not seeing the Italian-Japanese man furiously throwing a tantrum, burning with determination whenever placed in a battle field, or even call him the usual "baseball-freak". But in his eyes Yamamoto could detect the loneliness and suffering. Gokudera, Tsuna's right-hand man, had forsaken his reason of living. There weren't anymore intentions of continuing his life.

The Italian-Japanese man was like a pitiful stray wandering in the streets, starving. It would be best to kill it to put it out of its misery. But he didn't want Gokudera to die because of that; the man should be able to discover a new goal in life. But how can he when he dedicated his soul on being the right-hand man of a now dead man?

"I don't even think a professional could help him now," Yamamoto muttered.

Dino leaned against the wall, a frown in place. "That guy doesn't even have the will to start a heated argument anymore." He ran his fingers through his blond mane and let out a frustrated sigh.

"If only Tsuna had never died. Before he died, everybody was so happy, so content," Yamamoto said, his eyes closing again. "If only we were there in time to save him."

"It can't be helped anyway. He was killed and can never return again. That's life for you."

"Damn with life then."

The mafia leader's eyes widened slightly from the unexpected words that had left the Rain Guardian's mouth. The way he said it was spat out with agitation and sorrow, and almost the same way Gokudera would have said it. He wondered if the cheerful man would break down into an entirely different person now; the same way Gokudera was becoming.

Dino had observed that each Guardian was changing, adapting into the solemn atmosphere. To his surprise, Sasagawa stopped saying "extreme" and being his loud exuberant self. Lambo reduced into a quiet boy who didn't even utter a word of complaints, a stark difference of what he originally was. Those two, who once emanated a pleasant aura, were a section of the conflict of Dino's puzzlement and worries.

Hibari, however, was often somberly impressive; with the exception when he is out venturing to discipline enemies. Though, Dino found the dark man training excessively in frequent times. Dino inquired whether he was venting out his inner emotions, that Tsuna's death really did make an impact of his sanity. But it was somewhat paradoxical to set it as that; even tutoring him when he was the arrogant boy he was Dino still cannot figure what goes on in his mind. He was yet a mystery.

But there was the Mist Guardian: Dokuro Chrome. Dino haven't seen her male counterpart, Rokudo Mukuro, so he wasn't aware if he too diverted his characteristics. But that woman, Chrome, was something rather astonishing. Instead of being downcast, she placed her path into a straight line and followed it. She was strong, Dino perceived, and went on with her life. It wasn't as if she had completely erased the memories of her interactions with her boss, of course not—she too had wept at his funeral. But there was something burning within her that kept her standing up.

He had also noticed this with Miura Haru and Sasagawa Kyoko as well. They had the strength and will to keep moving forward. As if they didn't have the time to brood; they must discover a brighter future and dream. It was absolutely, wrongly, irrationally amazing to see these three accepting how cruel fate was. The men of the group stood there like sulking children while the women fought. Dino was dryly amused by the fact that women, who were generally weaker than men physically, were tougher mentally.

If only the men were like the women. If only they had what they had: hope. Courage, strength, ferocity, endurance were pieces that constructs a man. Foolishness was also it. Wisdom was something not easy to acquire, as so was hope. But if they all had gained such gift, who knows what else they would be able to accomplish without having Tsuna's death slowly drawing them closer to self murder. Gokudera was already corrupted, so was there a way to rescue him?

"I never would have expected you to say that," Dino commented.

Yamamoto didn't reply.

"I know that this is hard on you; this is hard on me as well. Tsuna…Tsuna was a little brother to me, and loosing someone important is no different that loosing a piece of yourself. You know how that feels, don't you?"

"I do, especially after my old man died," the Rain Guardian said.

Dino closed his eyes. "Afterwards, you were finally able to get out of your mourning state and smile like you did before. Does this means it will take four months to relieve over Tsuna's death also?"

"Probably even longer than I would hope," Yamamoto dully chuckled. "Tsuna was the one who spent his time comforting me; who secured away the pain that I once suffered. Now it's coming back, and I don't have Tsuna with me."

"What are you going to do, then?"

Yamamoto stared at his hands. These were the hands that had pulled away the hysterical Gokudera who was shrieking at Tsuna, begging for him not to go. These were the hands that had caressed the bleeding man who he was not able to defend. These were the hands that wrapped around the necks of his best friends and slapped their backs in a teasing manner. These were the hands that were not able to grasp onto the hands of Tsuna for one last time.

What was he supposed to do with these hands now? With these hands that once handled a deadly sword and control its power to bring forth a strike that could demand the defeats of its enemies. With these hands that had absolute no competence in baking goods but was experienced in slicing fish for a delicious cuisine. With these hands that accidentally knocked a random guy when he was demonstrating a punch presented for a couple curious children. With these hands that lifted the heavy metal that had its purpose to entertain the audience, to swing in the air and make contact with the ball flying towards it.

He could retire being in the mafia and make up for his childhood career. Baseball was his prime goal before he had even realized his battle against Squalo when he was a boy. He could always go back to playing bat and ball. Or perhaps he could carry out his father's job and open a sushi restaurant. His father had given him a few lessons on the art of sushi, so why not? Or, since he's now ultimately experienced, he could become a kendo teacher. Yamamoto was sure he recalled a club of kendo back in Namimori Middle School—he would sometimes see boys heavily dressed in the armor and carrying their weapons around the campus.

Would he be happy then? Would he be satisfied of returning to his normal and simple life? A life free of guns, wars, bloodshed, and death? He would be a regular citizen then. He wouldn't have to fear of being targeted by other mafia members. He wouldn't have to bear such responsibility. He would gain a simple role then. No more. No more. No more of this lunatic game that had destroyed his father and friend. No more of it.

"I don't know." Yamamoto gazed out at the window. "I just don't know."

* * *

"What?"

Within the head quarters of the Vongola Family's elite, independent assassination team, there was a room that was being occupied by its members. These members were composed of genius killers who were commissioned in the deepest recesses of the mafia. Each branch takes on a task that are said to be impossible to be completed by any man; however, the men of Varia have the skills that are known to be quite demonic.

Despite their reluctance upon receiving certain missions—due to their sluggishness, the majority consists of success with very minor failures; the failures are often from missions that are to the extent impossibility. Hence, the powerful members who would return without success would be 'severely' punished. And the punishment would be deemed to be comical by Sawada Tsunayoshi, much to the leader's dismay.

It was somewhat a running gag that the men of Varia were eager to continue when tormenting any unfortunate member. Tsuna and his Guardians just happened to be there, one day, and witnessed an incredibly frustrated Squalo wearing a ballerina dress while a laughing Belphegor and Lussuria hollered out that he should begin a prancing ritual. It didn't really lessened Squalo's irritation when Yamamoto commented that he looked 'pretty' in the garment. In fact, it nearly drove the man to the point where he was about to stick his sword up into Yamamoto's…gut.

However, the days where chortles and humorous pleasure began to wan out of existence. Superbi Squalo clenched his fists; he was furious, but not the same negative passion he had expressed before like when he was being punished. There wasn't any laughter thundering either; in its place, silence layered the eerie tension. Bewildered, they could not utter a word to express their utmost shock or disturb the silence.

Therefore, they were sinking deeper into the situation, probing a solution that was disguised amidst of the meddlesome tension. Yet, a configuration of diminishing the problem was left lingering. There was no solution, it was that obvious. There was no answer to solve the unwanted challenge.

Hopeless? Perhaps.

There was no leader for the Vongola Family. There was no one to guide them of their way. They were now sheep without direction. They were in need of a shepherd.

The profession was open. Anyone could easily snatch away the title now.

"Boss…" Leviathan began to speak, capturing the others' attention. "There is no leader."

"No shit, ass," Squalo snarled mildly, his recovery instantaneous. "What do you think we're being shocked here for anyway? The brat died and the other brats failed to save him. It's so fucking unbelievable that makes me so fucking angry!" His voice increased to a louder volume whilst venom was injected into each word. "What the hell was Yamamoto thinking in that fucking brain of his? Until I grab his scrawny neck, I'll give him a hell that he wouldn't dare forgetting!"

"You had to provoke him into ranting, didn't you?" Fran commented somewhat idly.

"No, that was not what I intended on doing." The man shook his head. "What…I originally was about to say to Boss was…was if he was going to ascend to the spot now." The words that Leviathan had mustered lead the continuation of a silence, yet it wasn't bitter or where mingling thoughts would wander with the incredulousness of others. It was just a pause—time around them was not rendering and everything was halted.

Time was unfrozen when a simple question dawned upon them: would Xanxus become the leader of Vongola?

Despite him not being related to the Ninth by blood, they were still father and son. The family bond was a strong connection that cannot be easily demolished, and the lineage would not be prevented by the absence of relative candidates. It would become a more powerful mafia with Xanxus as the head, and if it was settled as that the Vongola Family would surely strive to achievement better than what Sawada Tsunayoshi could ever accomplish.

"No."

Eyes landed on the man.

"What?" Squalo said, almost gawking.

"I said no. I am in no position as leader of the Vongola, nor would they accept me as their leader," Xanxus simply said.

"Then we'll beat them until they do," Leviathan determined. "Boss, you are the most suitable choice; there are no other options."

"Yes, surely they cannot deny that," Lussuria agreed.

"No."

The often belligerent man had left room without further words; just his simple declaration was left behind as he escorted himself out the door. This only made the assassination team more confused.

* * *

"Kyoko-san, we must go back. There is something I must tell the others."

Kyoko's eyes widened as her franticness escalated to a minimum. The alertness in Chrome's tone and how her single eye had sharpened sent Kyoko an implication that her female friend sensed something, and it was being directed towards Tsuna's coffin.

Kyoko didn't have to be an observant person to know that Chrome had switched into her serious mode; she had witnessed Chrome for the first time when she partook in a battle and was astounded by her determination and skill. It was quite bewildering to see how the shy and meek girl evolved into a talented warrior in the duration of a fight.

However, she couldn't see why Chrome was wary of the coffin before them. What was the matter? What was happening? How is warning the others beneficial to them? Was the enemy related to the coffin? She herself did not see any problem with it. But Chrome was an adept Guardian; therefore, if she knew that there was some sort of situation that was importance enough to be known by the rest of the family, then Kyoko had no objections of the seemingly harmless coffin.

Yet, she _wanted _to know. Even if she was not skilled to the point where she could participate in battles, she wanted to be _part _of the fray. After all, she was a member of the Vongola Family and she should do whatever she can to make herself useful.

"Chrome-chan, what's the matter with Tsuna's coffin?" Kyoko asked.

"I cannot tell you at the moment, but—"

"Why _can't _you tell me?" she interjected briskly. "Why can't you guys _ever _tell Haru and me anything? Aren't we in the family as well?"

Chrome was surprised, and then lowered her gaze almost too ashamedly. "I…I apologize, Kyoko-san."

"N-no, I—I mean." Kyoko sighed and palmed her face. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I was the one who suddenly shouted at you; but I really wanted to know because, well, nobody ever tells Haru and me anything. It must be because we're useless, right?"

"O-of course not!" Chrome quickly insisted. "I was against it at first, but I couldn't help but end up agreeing to the terms t-that…that if you two were further involved, who knows what dangers would soon be inevitable to avoid. A-after all, we're now in the mafia w-world."

"The one who decided on the terms was—was Tsu-kun." It wasn't a question.

Chrome didn't reply, thus unraveling the truth more.

"My brother must have supported his idea extremely," Kyoko mused softly. "He's always eager to protect me."

"H-he did."

Kyoko grabbed Chrome's hand and looked into her eyes; courage blazing within her gaze. "Chrome-chan, please. Please tell me. I don't care if I get hurt unless I have done my part as the Vongola Family. There must be _something _I can do!"

Chrome was amazed by the older woman's will. Even when she didn't have the potential of a fighter, she still wanted to support her family. But was there something that she could do? That she could accomplish without harm inflicting upon her?

There weren't many things that Kyoko and Haru could do besides carry out roles as housewives, but they really did want to do something useful. Chrome pondered, and then softly sighed. She realized how frustrated the two must have been when everybody was keeping things away from them. How would Kyoko react when she tells her?

As Chrome parted her lips to speak, a wave of nausea overcame her and she staggered. Kyoko called out her name, worried, but Chrome did not hear her.

She cried out, feeling incredibly weak and ill. She didn't hear Kyoko call out her name, and collapsed on her knees. With her hand clutched onto her hair, a soundless tone rang inside her head painfully.

'Do not tell the others. Not until I say so.'

* * *

Leonardo Lippi was a youthful man with dark hair and eyes. He was a member of the White Spell and often reported to the Millefiore leader, Byakuran, which was considered to many as a proud honor to carry out. Today, the boy was simply writing a document until he was distracted by two other members having an idle conversation. Something in their talk had caught his attention.

"Did you hear that the boss assigned the scientists to work on the Vongola Decimo's body?" asked a man twice his age.

The second voice for the dialogue blinked incredulously. "What? Isn't he dead?"

"As far as I'm aware of, nope. He's unconscious or something; they need him alive so that they could perform surgical practices on him."

The other man furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "For whatever for?" He leaned back in his chair as he waited for the other to answer.

"To scan the brain to snatch some secrets of the Vongola, duh."

"Why would they bother doing that? Millefiore is strong and can easily overpower Vongola," snorted the man.

"But Vongola is also a powerful family, thus we need to be more cautious," said his companion. "So that's why they had his body preserved in some big tank filled with blue ooze."

"You're making it up."

"What? I'm being serious here!"

"They wouldn't put the body in ooze; they would obviously put him in a freezer!"

Lippi stifled a snicker at the somewhat immature conversation, but was eager to listen further of it to fill his interest. He eyed his paper so that he wouldn't appear as if he was hearing what the two men were babbling about, but it wouldn't make much of a difference. They were talking rather loudly.

"As ridiculous as it sounds, they really did put him in ooze. Hey, don't give me that look! I even saw it myself."

His eyes widened with surprise. "You didn't get caught?"

"Actually, they allowed me to get a glance of it. It was a freaky sight, I'll tell ya."

"What did the Vongola Decimo look like now? Was his head split in half or what?"

"Hell no. Freakier."

"Well? Go on," encouraged the man.

The other member grinned. "Apparently one of the scientists thought it would be a good idea to place an animalistic mutation injected into the body, and gave the guy wings."

"What?"

"I'm serious. And what's more, one of the guys told me that the biological genes exploded or some sort, thus leaving the poor sap a hermaphrodite."

Lippi blinked.

The listener blanched. "Oh man, a poor sap indeed. Is the Decimo a boy or girl now?"

"I couldn't quite tell, but since the chest was as flat as a chessboard, he would be a girl, obviously." He shook his head, indicating his pity upon the test subject. "The project is still continuing though, even after the oddity."

"Huh, funny."

"Yeah. I can't even call the Decimo a 'she' yet. My shock has still yet to recover."

Lippi's concentration diverted to his unfinished document. When completed, he politely informed the chatting members that he would excuse himself to Byakuran's office, and the two nodded at his departure. Lippi left, but was not heading towards the office like he had said he would. Instead, he directed his way to the corridor where the Vongola Decimo was being occupied.

The corridors were not that one would discover as pleasant. It was distinctly that of an old hospital floor: white tiles shined underneath the undisturbed dust, electricity screeching inside the bulbs above, and the eerie silence that was filled with Lippi's clicking footsteps. There were no windows, unlike the hallways he had ventured in where it was usually crowded with other members. However, despite of the absence of accommodation within the Millefiore head quarters, the experimental section was an acknowledgeable area. But to the boy, it would soon be demolished from existence.

He had made turns around corners as though he was aware of where his designated location was to be; and when was confronted with the tall twin doors he entered without hesitation and suddenly declared that all scientists were to be sent to the perpendicular section as ordered by the boss. The men and women jumped in surprise to find the youthful man ordering them with authority.

One scientist curiously questioned him of the sudden movement, and Lippi firmly answered that he had no knowledge of what was the transmission for but was doing as commanded. The scientists did not resist the demand, knowing that if it came from their leader they should obey, and had soon exited the room.

"Kufufu."

Rokudo Mukuro took over the boy's body and to his original appearance; he then placed an illusionary force to protect any offence from entering through the doors. He could already hear the confusion in the scientists' cries as they witnessed the false vision of the surroundings closing and encasing them with bloodied weaponry. He smirked as the cries evolved into shrieks of terror. The pleasure of the screams aroused him, tempting him to create his art with more detail just to hear the shrieks lengthen.

But he refused to wander off with his glee; he had one task he was sure of accomplishing. His eyes landed on the fragile form of Tsuna. He—_she _was an enthralling sight. It was true what the man had idly described, but it was not horrifying or freakish at all—not in Mukuro's perspective. Just enthralling. It was somewhat amusing to see the Vongola Decimo figured into a feminine and delicate persona; it was as if one mere touch of the snow white skin would easily crumble.

She had also brought forth his remembrance of his captivity in the dark abyss, his so-called prison that had sealed him from the world. Her benumbed aspect caused him to picture of the deafening silence that had once tortured him; the weightlessness of his body that floated in an unknown circumscribe and the desire for his feet to sense gravity; the suffocation pressuring his lungs of which originated from the air that replaced real earthy air he quenched for; and the compulsive urge to throttle the bastards who experimented him till his sadism has been satisfied.

Mukuro's smirk faltered into a frown that wasn't well recognized by most peers. That frown symbolized his comprehensive for the Vongola Decimo who was presently his equal. Tsuna understood the convulsion of being a test subject, but it wasn't as if she hadn't expressed her sympathy before. He—she had struggled to fully understand the agony of his past and had elaborated her trust upon him. Mukuro chuckled at the thought of how naïve the young leader was, but that's what made him find little Sawada so intriguing.

Of course, the other Guardians had insisted that he was not worth receiving freedom, but Tsuna disregarded them. Presented with his independence outside of his confinement, Mukuro had schemed to take over the Decimo's body, but failed from one certain flaw: debt. Has Hibari influenced him in such way? Mukuro knew that the man despised being indebted, and now Mukuro had somehow inherited the trait.

His previous plans were foiled by his newly acquired trait, so in order to entertain his increasing boredom, he taken in a couple disciples who proved to be incredible idiots. But from afar, he would check in Chrome to see how well she was doing and what duties she was in charge of; and sometimes he would pop in front of the Decimo to elate Mukuro of her bewildered expressions. There would be times where Tsuna would pry a conversation between the two, which would give out an obvious spot of teasing. It was nostalgia, despite the wariness of the others. However, Tsuna had faith in him.

He gazed at the tiny form almost in a wistful way. His hand elevated to his eye with the red orb and fingered the lid that covered the pupil. "Tsunayoshi," Mukuro said, "what will become of you?"

The hermaphrodite did not answer; her lips were absorbing the artificial air to support her lungs. Being in deep sleep and locked inside thick glassed walls, Mukuro did not expect an answer from her; nevertheless, he had a small amount of anticipation that she would stir from the echo of his voice. When she did not respond, he sighed but a smirk was once again plastered on his face.

The childish and cherubic exterior established by the genetic miscalculation, the deficiency of healthy pinkish tint upon flesh, the scrawny body that was securely tucked into a ball, and the wings that expanded like a flowing skirt of a dress: an uncanny resemblance of a fairy, a nymph, a chimera, and an angel. But what Mukuro essentially saw was that Sawada Tsunayoshi was a delicate girl. A girl. No longer a man with calloused fingers, broad-shoulders, or even a low voice. Astray from the development of a male, what would Tsuna experience from the adventures of a female?

Mukuro chuckled at the thought. How would the Decimo react after discovering her new gender? Would her eyes widen from disbelief? Would she gasp from the incredulous situation? Would her body fidget from being uncomfortable?

And how would she find her new limbs to be? Horrifying? Grotesque? Beautiful? Disgusting? Would she even be able to function the muscles correctly? Or would she stumble upon them, thus proving her utter clumsiness? Perhaps she would naturally have the competence of lifting herself off the ground and fly. But if not, would she desire to learn?

Mukuro stepped towards the glass tube that housed the Decimo in. Other than Tsuna, there was the "blue ooze" that one of the members had described previously; but little did he know that this wasn't just "ooze". The liquid was similar from what Mukuro drifted in when he was imprisoned. However, this liquid wasn't the water substance he was familiar of; it was much thicker and held a capability of 'freezing' the body so that it would not decompose—a much richer mass that would prevent average human regulations. Those who held him captivity performed routines in order to keep him from reaching closer to consciousness and disintegrate. The only advantage he could obtain was his connection with Chrome.

The radiating blue liquid was a special base; having the ability to completely numb the nerves and brain activity, leaving Tsuna utterly vulnerable. Mukuro did not hold any further knowledge than that, but from his observation of the girl he noticed how the absence of nutrients slowly attenuated her muscles—due to the reason why she was so scrawny. Did the mysterious substance kept her from dying? Or was she dying anyway?

His hand smoothed the surface of the tube, feeling it emanate a strange mixture of heat and ice. The room's temperature was indeed cold, but inside the confinement was warm. How puzzling, Mukuro mused, that the incredibly thick-walled glass was not dense enough for the heat to not seep through. Was it the works of the liquid?

He then took a step back and constricted his grip of his trident. Mukuro turned to face the foe behind him as a sly smirk graced his lips. "I must say, being able to get pass my illusion is astounding, yet utterly annoying."

"Ha! I couldn't simply allow you to take advantage of my absence, you know?" Byakuran presented himself before Mukuro, the darkness that had concealed him waning. "Or take advantage of my 'obliviousness'. Right, 'Leo'?"

"Oya? So you knew?" Mukuro sounded amused.

"Of course. I was aware of this for a long time, after all. But I do admit that I was uncertain of what your intentions were; however, using 'Leo' to lead you here pretty much gives me an idea of what you want. Oh, I meant to say Greco Guido, pardon me."

"You knew that too, I see."

"Yes, and using a wanted Italian criminal who murdered fifteen men…Hmm, I wouldn't say that was a brilliant idea considering how someone would someday recognize him. I was able to maintain the suspicion amongst everybody by informing them that it was a coincidence Greco Guido and Leonardo Lippi had similar faces." Byakuran cheerfully smiled. "I take it that 'Leo' is you second Chrome Dokuro."

Mukuro inclined his head, smirk in place. "I wonder."

"Ah, a business secret! Well, it wouldn't make a difference getting an answer from you. I was always wondering what you and 'Leo' were scheming. And here I thought that I would finally get an answer."

"Kufufu. Your eyes always did carry an exploit that I discovered to be quite of an amusement," Mukuro chuckled lightly. "Especially after how Guido delivered you those flowers."

"The daruta flowers that Shoichi Irie sent? I suppose you didn't know that they hold a meaning of 'disguise'." Byakuran pocketed his hand and ventured closer to where the light illuminated upon his face. "We both pretended to be dumb and were aware of each other. How funny!"

"Indeed. And if you haven't warned your subordinate, then I would have received more fun."

"Well said. Although, you began your Vongola work instead of having just fun."

Mukuro tossed his head back in a gesture of his mirth; an echo of laughter filled the hollowness of the dark room as the rhythm of his chortles vibrated his chest. He smiled, yet the upward tug of his lips seemed to be more sinister than before. "Vongola?" he snorted. "I wasn't expecting you to treat me as one of them." He lifted his weapon. "Tsunayoshi Sawada is my target, nothing more."

Since Mukuro could not stifle his hatred for being indebted, he sought for a solution: waiting until the infuriating trait disappeared. In the duration of his freedom, he observed the basis of his prey and what vulnerability he could attack and posses the Decimo. Hence, his ambition had not withered; in fact, it merely aroused him of advancing Tsuna when the time was right. But much to his dismay, Mukuro had his appreciation set; Tsuna was the one who gave him actual liberation, and it came out as puzzlement if he would find himself swallowing regret.

_Ridiculous_…Him? Guilty?…But what if he were to not become indebted? That way there would be no obligations in his way and his opportunity of taking Tsuna as his possession would once again persist. So in order to repay the Decimo, his intentions were to free Tsuna. And then perhaps posses her when she had been fully recovered.

"Things are beginning to look more and more interesting! But I'm sorry to say this but," Byakuran narrowed his eyes, his pupils glimmering ominously, "I am not going to let you leave without experiencing death."

"I have been looking forward to this moment," Mukuro said. "It excites me just waiting for you to unveil your power…and for me to posses you."

Thus, the battle raged on.

* * *

A/N: Surnames in European countries go last while surnames in Asian countries go first. I think.


	3. Chapter 3

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thanks for reading the second chapter, you guys! I really appreciate it.

By the way, I noticed that one reviewer—forgot who, sorry but the computer I'm using at the moment doesn't have internet access—really likes Kozato Enma and wants me to place him into the story. I'm sorry to say that I won't be putting him into the story, or perhaps do put him in but he will not make his appearance for a long time. BUT! But I read about him and found his character to be quite adorable, so I am beginning to make another story that is about Enma and FEM!Tsuna.

Yes, I know that some of you folks don't like Tsuna feminized. If you don't like it, then don't read it.

Please read and enjoy this one though!

* * *

The battle was chaotic: the room was practically demolished as well as the upgraded technology that was installed, creating a spark and leading to a great fire; however, the outcome of the Vongola Decimo remained encased inside the glassed tube. The surface of the confinement was utterly indestructible, much to Mukuro's dismay.

His glove was drenched in blood as his hand hovered over the injured eye—Guido's eye. Byakuran managed to slice the skin, digging into the retina, while Mukuro was occupied dodging away the distant infliction. He was oblivious to the counter attack that was plotted before he could detect the Millefiore boss's presence advancing to his. There was a blow upon his chest, which made it difficult for his lungs to function. The impact from Byakuran was amazingly powerful, and could easily disintegrate an army; nevertheless, Mukuro had enough strength for his illusions to perform and interfere the offense.

It was as thrilling as Mukuro had anticipated it to be. The adrenaline rushing through his veins and the excitement curled his lips upwards. Each strike. Each attack. But the rush faltered due to Guido's useless body. The boy's body did not carry enough stamina for the challenge; therefore, rendered to be weak and an obvious victory for Byakuran. How would it vary if Mukuro confronted the leader with his own body? Who would be the victor?

Mukuro regretted not doing so, knowing it would be far more enjoyable instead of taking possession of the young man. But he had other plans to accomplish; one of them was freeing Tsunayoshi and leading her into safety. Another was to stop Byakuran from continuing his conspiracies; Mukuro was aware that the leader held ideas of dictatorship, but it simply wouldn't be any good if it wasn't _him _ruling the world.

Byakuran was an annoying pest that needed to be removed, obviously.

Yet Mukuro knew that Byakuran would cunningly observe his competence whilst avoiding each attack if he was fighting in his original body. In this case, the leader was trying to get rid of Greco Guido to destroy the persistence of obtaining information. And also for him to escape with the Decimo.

What was the attachment Byakuran had with Tsuna? Or what interest was triggered? Was it her appearance? Was it the chemical reactions? Did he want to understand how the transformation proceeded? Did he want to know if she was mentally stabled? What was it? What could it be?

Pondering and being aware of his opponent was rather difficult considering the situation he was in. Mukuro swallowed the excess saliva and blood before saying, "Kufufu…You really are skilled in combat."

"Well when you are the leader of a big mafia, of course you have to be," Byakuran chimed. The boss took a step forward before whipping the blood from his sharp weaponry. The red droplets lightly splattered on his white coat and cheek, thus slightly enhancing the maliciousness of the man. It was ironic that the wild fire roared in the background; it signified hell, in Mukuro's perspective, whilst Byakuran was the devil himself.

The illusionist was in the devil's lair, trying to save the captive—who was the unfortunate angel. Very ironic, indeed. Mukuro glanced at the tube and back to Byakuran. "Why keep the Decimo when _she _is no longer usable?" he inquired.

"That is classified information."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. So Tsuna was still useful, but in what occasion? "Well, if the Decimo is that valuable to you, then it gives me a bigger reason why I should take the princess away." Mukuro smirked, disregarding the compulsion to stagger from the immense pain. His smirk extended when Byakuran's eyes narrowed and his smile ever-so-barely waned.

Suddenly, Byakuran grinned brightly. "Then I would prevent that from ever happening," he cheerfully said.

The attack was unforeseen. His movements were incredibly swift and sharp. Mukuro, bearing the severe wound that demoted his agility, thrust his strength against the silver dagger with his trident. His breaths were now hot and heavy as his head was foggy from inhaling the smoke. The possibility of Greco Guido to make it out alive was definitely nonexistent—not that he would live for another year or so even without being used for the battle, anyway.

"You wouldn't mind if we take this outside, would you? The flames are making me hot and I could use a bit of fresh air," Mukuro said casually.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, but I prefer you to suffer in hell this instant."

"It's such a disappointment that we cannot always get what we want; however," Mukuro suddenly managed to accelerate Byakuran to a further distance and startling him, "I _will _take the Decimo with me."

"I won't let you succeed with that," Byakuran challenged.

Mukuro tilted his head, a mirthless smile plastered. "We'll just have to see, now won't we?"

* * *

He was sitting on a bench of a park.

It was a great day to lounge around and feel lazy: the sun was finally out, the rain that disappeared left a refreshing earthy air, there was a peaceful silence with the exception of birds singing their songs, and there were no crowds. And after the training, it is always best to take breaks at a relaxing spot. It was a great day to be idle of everything that is going on around you.

However, Hibari wasn't being idle. He was thinking.

And just what was going in his mind? He was thinking about what ways to infiltrate the Millefiore Family and ways to kill the bastard. Bastard: Byakuran. What sort of methods should he use? Protrude a sword through his chest? Rip his intestines out till he was hollow? Implode him with a bomb? Tear his limbs and let him bleed to death? Or beat relentlessly him until he had lost his pride, thus leaving him to commit suicide like how the Storm Guardian had attempted but was stopped.

Hibari didn't know why the others would get in Gokudera's way of obtaining death; obviously he had no reason to live when Tsuna died. But why stop him? He rendered to weaken the Vongola Family and holds no use; just a pathetic man with no purpose. So why persisted on making him live another sufferable day?

He knew that herbivores have a connection with one another that he could never comprehend. They always supported one another; always smiled at one another; always hoped with one another; and betrayed one another. They suffered together; they shared together; they believed together; and they killed together, even each other. They were a group, sometimes developed into an organization.

No matter what group or organization they were, Hibari was different. He was independent. He was a carnivore.

He would see people, crowds, lingering about and wasting precious air with their nonstop chattering and presence. It makes him sick. And the way how many individuals could form into one subject, one noun, he could always recognize a herd of sheep being as mindless as ever. And their laughter and talking, _oh _how much of an annoyance it is to his ears.

Everyone was an herbivore. He was a carnivore.

Those who always prevented Gokudera to die was an herbivore; always concerning of his well-being when they were unintentionally making it worse for him. Making him go through another day—what kind of herbivore was that? Why couldn't they simply discard him? There was no use for him. There was no use for anyone who was demoted due to sentimental trauma. He was weak. He can't stand and move on. There was no room for the prey; only the predator will conquer.

Only the strong will win because they can overpower the weak. That was why wolves could snare a rabbit—rabbits could never outsmart a wolf because fear was a huge tumor that infected their puny brains. Actually, all herbivores have that tumor; how repulsive. Fear controls their actions, thus leaving them without defense—vulnerability or they would cowardly run away.

Everyone was a stupid herbivore. He was a carnivore who solely depended on himself.

The others wanted to let him live. Gokudera wanted to die. What a pointless problem.

Hibari closed his eyes and sighed, feeling the radiance of the sun. It was a great day, but not for musing of methods to completely obliterate the bastard. Bastard: Byakuran. Perhaps it was the day to just become idle of everything that going around him. After all, he did need it. He trained and trained until his muscles were sore; he deserved it.

"Ah! It's one of Tsu-kun's friends."

* * *

The room fazed into a vague impression of a jungle: the greenery was distorted whilst the vegetation proved to be somewhat scarce; it was like an impressive imitation of a jungle having its watery humidness evaporated. There were blazing lights that flickered randomly around the area: the flames that Mukuro did not conceal with his illusion. It was either he did it on purpose, or likely that his energy was draining.

Byakuran scanned the arena. Even with the change of appearance, the room was still here. But where was the illusionist? Did he cowardly hide away?

His attention diverted to his left, but was too slow. Mukuro ripped away the flesh of the boss's left arm and shoulder. Byakuran quickly sidestepped and descended the dagger to the illusionist's neck, but Mukuro faded away into components of red and orange dust: fire. Byakuran, nearly had his right hand burned, jumped away and turned around.

"Has the tables turned yet?" Mukuro chuckled.

"Probably, but I'm not giving up," Byakuran said.

The injured eye was still crusted with blood, but that didn't seem to slow Mukuro down. The man dived below Byakuran's waist and swung the trident, about to create a hefty impact. The leader nimbly leapt upon the weapon and his weight pushing it down, but almost swaggered on his poise when Mukuro elevated his leg into a high kick. Grunting, Byakuran neglected the attack upon his shoulder but managed to throw the illusionist onto his back by grasping on his ankle and hoisting him upwards.

But when Mukuro made contact with the floor, he once again became fire. With another Mukuro, it happened again. It was to that point that Byakuran felt annoyed by the antics, even when the false visionary had just begun. Another assault was made but it was predictable enough to calculate where the attack was heading, thus simpler to register infliction upon the illusionist after avoiding—who once again dissolved into components of heat.

The manifestation proceeded: dodging and turning Mukuro into flames. Byakuran's annoyance diminished into suspicion; each strike the illusionist inflicted was as if he was becoming more and more desperate, and it did not interlock the man's strategy format at all. Henceforth, there was a scheme that he would soon be opposed with, and ascertained that the consequences of being idle of the Vongola Decimo's Mist Guardian planning equaled a troublesome operation.

The lack of reluctance within the fight shown: Mukuro did not bother ducking from a punch or scratch. Whilst the evidence supported the assumption; however, the actions also provided another theory. The leader wasn't positive on the belief, but inquired the possibilities. So, rather than cooking up a strategy to defeat Byakuran, what other method was there?

Byakuran kicked another Mukuro against a wall.

First off, what was Mukuro's first priority? Why was he here in the first place?

He inclined his head to avoid having his chin sliced.

To take away the Decimo.

Of course.

Byakuran abandoned his illusionary opponent and bolted towards to one of the dried gaps—the tube. Even with the tube cleverly hidden by the illusions portrayed, he could recognize the arrangements of the objects that were there before destroyed. He knew that the wall he had kicked one of illusions to was not a wall but a computer, and the visional trees were columns. The rest of the flames were hidden other than the small lit flickers, however, he could feel the kindling emanating and making his skin sweat. And for sure, the tube was substituted with a gap.

With a sudden jerk, Byakuran feet skidded to a halt and hurled his fist forward. Hearing a satisfying crack, he smirked and withdrew the bruised hand. Mukuro—the real one—fazed into visibility with a newly acquired bloody lip to compliment his injured eye.

"That was sly of you to trick me like that," Byakuran commented while leaping ahead and thrusting his dagger. Mukuro fell to the ground meanwhile grabbing Byakuran's wrist and knocking back his ankle, therefore making him loose his balance. The leader collided into the illusionist and directed the dagger to insert into the abdomen; however, he failed at the attempt when Mukuro kneed him with an incredible force, flying him back against a column.

"Yes it was," Mukuro huffed. "And it would be even slier of me…to do…_this_!" With one gesture, the trident swung against the concealed tube whilst a white crescent of the similar power of the force that Byakuran had sensed arched before the tip, thus an addition to an unbelievable mastery thrice greater than what the leader could cope.

The white-haired boss shut his eyes because of a pain that throbbed through his skull, but that didn't prevent him from hearing the licks of the fire and glass shattering. Eventually, his injuries and his smoke-filled lungs were quelled by exhaustion; his conscious nearly swept away by sudden slumber.

* * *

"Ch-Chrome-chan?"

"G-gomenasai, Kyoko-san," Chrome panted, struggling to stand up. Kyoko rushed in to steady her female friend from falling down, keeping her up on her feet.

"What happened? Wait—don't tell me. You're ill, aren't you? You caught a cold ever since the funeral, haven't you?" Kyoko probed.

Chrome shook her head. "I…I received a message."

Kyoko blinked confusingly. She knew that there wasn't anyone here besides she and Chrome, so how was it possible for her to receive a message when there was no one to deliver it to her?

But then again, there were different routes to communication; one way could also be through mentality connection between two or more individuals. However, the identification of revealing the technique was not established to the people, thus the form that only the highly skilled had obtained was postulated; or that it was a mere theory which was supported by many congress.

It doesn't seem likely, yet it was real. Chrome was not highly skilled like Hibari or Xanxus, to be blatantly true. Although, the woman was experienced through the mind exercise with one person: Mukuro. Chrome once explained to Kyoko that she shared a connection whereas their minds could conceive information that one could access to each other. While it was unbelievable to Kyoko, the others remained calm—considering they knew the fact from the beginning.

Apparently, because Mukuro had used Chrome as his possession whenever he wanted or needed to make his appearance before he was confined in his prison, Chrome's brain inherited such skill of mind communication; however, it would only work with Mukuro.

Even though Kyoko knew the single fact of Chrome, it still bewildered her no matter what. The ability itself was something difficult to believe for it was as if it was fabricated from a fantasy. A tale. A myth. Anything to be distanced away from reality, the world that revolved without the wonders of mafia. Nevertheless, her planet _did _have the factions conquering about.

"Was it Rokudo Mukuro who sent you the message?"

Chrome pressed her lips together and nodded, her one eye nervously matching with hers.

"What did he say?" she encouraged.

"He ordered me not to tell the others of the boss until he tells me otherwise." Chrome continued before Kyoko would ask the obvious question. "Meaning, I cannot tell you."

Kyoko's eyes widened. "Me?"

"Kyoko-san, lets go back. I think it's going to rain soon." Chrome looked up at the sky while walking out of the area. The one-eyed stare was intensified, unlike the usual sheepish glances Chrome tended to do. Yet her voice had a slightly wavering pitch, thus indicating her nervousness. Kyoko stared down at the coffin and the forget-me-nots for one last time and jogged to the younger woman's side.

"How long do you think it will be until you are able to tell the rest of your, um, discovery?" Kyoko asked.

"I-I have no idea. C-Considering that Mukuro-sama ordered me not to confirm of the information, I take it that he is currently being occupied with the similar work," she admitted.

Her eyes widened. "The one concerning Tsu-kun?"

"Yes."

"But…I thought that he…he didn't want anything to do with the Vongola Family. That he didn't care whether it perished or not." Then Kyoko lightly gasped from realization. Just when she was about to add that Mukuro desired only to possess Tsuna's body, that was when she saw the man's motive. Of course, he _wants _to subdue Tsuna, to dominate him and destroy Vongola. And in order to do that, he would have to secure him alive.

But how could he do that when Tsuna was dead? What was the man attempting to accomplish?

Everything was so confusing. And then her mind wandered to the same question: what was wrong with the coffin? Why did Chrome react so apprehensively towards it? Was there a problem with his body? What was the problem? What was the problem? What was the problem?

Why was Mukuro investigating the situation? Was he that desperate to control Tsuna?

What was the problem?

Ever since Tsuna had died, the quandaries resulted into chaos. Everything didn't make sense anymore, and everyone was…was just lost, out of place of their own senses and mind. Everything was disordered, which was not good for the large organization that Vongola was. And all because a man named Byakuran murdered their beloved friend.

But what would happen _if _Chrome, for once in her life, was defiant of Mukuro's authority and told of what was going on? Would that make a change?

And even though she didn't know what Chrome knew, would the others' believe her anyway?

"I…" Kyoko halted. She stared down at the puddles rippling around her boots. "I can't stand this anymore! I cannot understand anything…" She bent down as she sobbed. Depression, confusion, and agitation burned within her. Such sentimental irritation emanated from Sasagawa's younger sister, also affecting Chrome. Kyoko cried, not having a single care of the world as she allowed her emotions to flow. She didn't even care that her long hair was dampened at the tip from touching the mud.

She just didn't care.

Chrome bit her lower lip, sighed, and furiously blinked. It was overwhelming for Kyoko, causing Chrome to empathetically comprehend her feelings. That was when she had decided on her own for the first time—the first time disobeying Rokudo Mukuro.

"K-Kyoko-san!" Chrome grasped Kyoko's shoulders and forced her to look at her. "I—you must promise to me that you will not tell anyone for I am going to confess to you something important. Promise me!"

Kyoko, surprised by Chrome's actions, nodded. "Y-yes?"

Chrome paused, and then whispered, "Sawada Tsunayoshi is alive."

* * *

With Byakuran on the verge of unconsciousness, Mukuro's illusion disappeared. The blue fluid rapidly rushed out of its confinement and ran across the dusty ground, bringing the stench of nausea. Mukuro held in his breath and crawled inside the tube, carefully watching out for the sharp jagged ends of the broken glass, and furiously tore away the mask off the test subject's mouth and managed to snap the bulky shackles with a few quick thrusts of his trident. The cuffs still were bounded, clasping her thin wrists together invariably, but it made it simpler for him to carry her without her arms flaying everywhere. He then stepped out of the tube with the Decimo now in his arms and drenched by the strange scented liquid.

Out of the liquid, the girl appeared to be much paler than before, but she continued to sleep. Her lengthened hair was matted close to her scalp instead of dancing above her head whilst her wings were limply dragging below her, unlike how they appeared to arch sharply around her form. Mukuro adjusted the Decimo so that her wings were tucked underneath his arm and her head was situated in a seemingly comfortable position.

Suddenly, the fire roared and spread like an epidemic. The heat was incredibly intense; Mukuro brought Tsuna closer to his chest and patiently examined the field for a possible exit. When there were none, he closed his unwounded eye…and…just…stood.

What was he doing now? Was the fire too much for him? Had he given up hope already? And after such successful endeavor of defeating another competent warrior, it had to end this way? He didn't even _try _to escape the fire, but was _standing _there. He was going to be burned to death by the flames along with the Decimo who he had relentlessly fought for, currently his winning trophy. And all that would be gone? How will he—

"Chikusa, Ken," he mumbled, "where are you?"

No reply was made, yet there was some unknown connection that only Mukuro was aware of. "Be there," he ordered again after the pause. He opened his eye and walked forward; disregarding the fearful outreach that flame had used to threaten. Then with a swift movement of his unoccupied arm, the flames danced away and created a path full of ashes and metal remains.

The bewildering miracle was not awed by any audience who lost the chance to witness something incredible; however, it was not for show. With the last remaining stamina, he endured the pain and used his power to push away the fire, then walking with his pride still instilled into him that kept him from limping pathetically.

He exited through a hole that leads him outside: the flames glowed in the midnight sky, acting as the unseen stars above. He leapt, despite by the great height, and leisurely landed on a branch of a tree; then he carefully stepped onto the bark and to the ground. The blood that proceeded to flow stained the white skin of the Decimo, yet she remained unruffled and unawake. It was as if she was dead, but he could hear her soft breathing. Mukuro gazed away from the girl and to the shadowy forest before him.

He hissed at the pain that shocked his muscles; Guido's body was weakening due to inhaling the smoke. Such a useless fighter, and he managed to kill several men? Mukuro could not believe it. He dug his tooth into his lower lip, resisting the impulse. He would not fall down. He would keep on going. Mukuro bit down even harder as he took a step forward. Eventually, he was swallowed by the darkness of the forest; and eventually, his condition was growing worse.

He was panting now. His lungs were functioning painfully and it was utterly difficult to stay conscious. Where were Chikusa and Ken? Where were they? Mukuro then stopped when his nausea overwhelmed him, causing him to fall against a tree. Was Guido dying? Was it the liquid that Mukuro was drenched in? The blue fluid did have a peculiar stench. Suddenly his back withdrew and thrown forward, his mouth releasing a large red puddle mixing in with the dirt and grass. He gasped and spat out the bitter bile. His coat was splattered with blood, and unfortunately the Decimo was too. It had an uncanny appearance that she was slain; however, the blood was the only indication. There was no gash of where she was slaughtered

The illusionist forced a smile when he thought of how he tainted the cherubic angel with his own blood. She was once clean, now covered in dark filth. Oh well, it doesn't matter because when the time is right, he really will taint her. By possession.

His head was unfocused, his vision obscured as his eyes could no longer adjust. He was exhausted and sore; his only mission now was to wait for the two to arrive. Mukuro rested his head against the tree and idly stroke the light brown hair of the Decimo. It was soft; almost like silk. Was Tsuna's hair always soft even when she was a boy, or did the transformation made changes to her?

Mukuro then looked up and his smile grew. "Kufufu. Looks like you found me."

* * *

Nana frowned when a thought occurred: Tsuna, Lambo, and I-Pin hadn't visited in a while, and neither has his friends. That's funny. Usually Tsuna and his friends would come by on the weekends and talk about what they were doing in college and whatnot. Sometimes they were too busy to even visit, but Nana understood that. What she couldn't understand was that why did it take Tsuna so long to visit her? Did he suddenly forget about his own mother?

Nana lightly gasped. Perhaps something happened to him, but what? How bad was it? Then she gasped again because of one thought that came to her mind.

No, it couldn't be…

"Tsu-kun got a girlfriend!" Nana exclaimed.

As she twirled happily into the kitchen, she halted when she remembered that she needed to go shopping. Hmm, Nana wondered, what if Tsu-kun brings home his girlfriend? She comically slapped both cheeks and her mouth formed an 'o' shape. If Tsuna brings home his girlfriend, then Nana _must _provide them a mouthwatering meal!

She nodded to herself and took off her apron. She dusted her skirt and fetched her purse, then exited out the door. On her way, she encountered a little boy who asked her for a quarter so that he may buy a gumball. Nana internally squealed by the utter adorableness the youth emitted and handed him the money before cheerfully patting his head.

When patting his head, she suddenly thought of Fuuta and how his hair was as smooth as the boy's. Come to think of it, Fuuta is now sixteen-years-old. A very mature age for a very mature boy; in fact, he was quite mature when he was younger. The boy always displayed such politeness, and it made Nana want to hug him until he faints! Okay, not a good way to interact with kids, but it was cute. Speaking of cute, Fuuta was cute. He definitely would attract several girls with his face and mannerism; he was definitely the princely type. It was just too bad that he was shy about it...Aw, he was shy!

Speaking of princely, Basil was princely. When Tsuna was in high school, he once brought a friend home. Basil was about Tsuna's age, but had the ideal behavior of an adult. Already, Nana felt self-conscious. Also, he was a foreigner, just like Tsuna's many friends! His eyes were a lovely pigment of blue whilst his hair was like a honey shade. An addition to his appearance, his accent was thick when speaking in Japanese; however, he was fluent despite the out-of-generation dialect. Oh yes, he was definitely the princely type, especially the knightly type. Nana once witnessed Basil defending Tsuna from drunken thugs lingering by her house, and she was _impressed _by his brave actions and swift moves. Oh yes, he was knightly.

Speaking of knightly, Dino was knightly. Another handsome foreigner who stumbled into her house one day. He was sophisticated, like how most men should, but what caught her eye was that he was suave and cool. So cool that Nana would just faint! Well, perhaps he did have one flaw: he was incredibly clumsy. It was somewhat cute that he was, but sometimes it could go out of hand. But his clumsiness never faltered his considerations of Tsuna; he always looked after him just like an older brother. Dino assists him practically in everyway, no matter how big or small. And that's just what makes him knightly _and _kingly. Nana seen those men in black follow Dino wherever he go; it was obvious that he was a leader of something great. Wow.

Speaking of kingly, her hubby was! No, he wasn't just kingly, he was kingly and knightly and princely! He was all three! Nana giggled and sighed and waved the little boy goodbye, then went to the grocery store.

Inside the store, she noticed the sales of the vegetable and fruit aisle that there were discounts. If Bianchi was here, she would probably buy the entire rack! Nana smiled at the thought, and her smile grew when she recalled the memory of when the young lady once tried to make dinner for everyone, but unfortunately the stove exploded for unknown reason, thus leaving them to go out to eat.

And just where did they go? Why, to Yamamoto Takeshi's father's sushi restaurant, of course! When Tsuna explained to Yamamoto that the oven had exploded, he laughed that same nice laugh he would laugh. Ah, laughter…It was refreshing to see him grin as well, like chewing minty gum or drinking an icy glass of soda. Or wearing deodorant before going out on a jog in a hot summer day. He was just simply, well, refreshing.

After eating sushi, they were about to return home when Bianchi stated that she wanted to visit her brother, Gokudera Hayato. Nana told Bianchi to give Gokudera her regards considering how he was another good friend of Tsuna's. He was also the first real friend Tsuna had ever made, astonishingly. It would always bring tears to her eyes of how Gokudera loved being with her son and how well they get along. Almost like brothers. Nana was sure to keep that thought to herself in case Dino would hear; she knew that Dino wanted to be Tsuna's big brother.

When they were at their neighborhood, they encountered Sasagawa Ryohei. What an energetic boy, Nana thought. She remembered how Sasagawa exclaimed a good evening and Tsuna correcting him that it was past evening. Then Sasagawa attempted to persuade Tsuna to join the boxing club; meanwhile he was doing some exaggerated gestures and adding phrases of "extreme". He was a funny fellow and definitely someone who could lighten up Tsuna's day.

Nana giggled and sighed and picked an apple to inspect it. When she completed her mission, she carried the bags out of the store and directed her way to the park. She felt like eating ice cream so she bought a cone along the way, and it would certainly make it tastier if she had a nice place to eat it. On her way there, she saw a young man sitting on a bench. She blinked, knowing that he was someone who she had met before. The young man was lean and had black hair; she couldn't recognize his face because his head was hanging on the ledge, but from his chin and down it looked familiar. Then when he sighed, that was when she remembered.

"Ah! It's one of Tsu-kun's friends," Nana exclaimed aloud.

She didn't know his name, but there were a few times where she would catch her son with the dark boy. Likely, he was one of Tsu-kun's friends! Hooray!

* * *

"It looks like I did."

"I was hoping that either Chikusa or Ken would discover me first, but it appears that I hoped too big," Mukuro said.

Byakuran grinned cheerfully. "And what a disappointment that sure was!" He let go of his wounded arm and straightened his back. "But I'm sure glad that I was able to find you two." Then he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "No, _one _of you."

Mukuro smirked. "How did you know?"

"Like I said before, when you are the leader of a big mafia," Byakuran took out his silver dagger stained with blood, "you have to be skilled in anything."

He flipped the weapon into the air, caught it by the handle, and easily shot it right at Tsuna. Suddenly, by the time the tip had pierced the white flesh, Tsuna dissolved into tiny components of air: a familiar disappearance like how Mukuro would transform into fire. But the dagger did not stop from here; when the Decimo vanished in his arms, the weapon continued to fly straight and dig itself into Mukuro's chest. The illusionist bit back a cry and fixated a weary glare at the man before him.

"Where is she?" Byakuran monotonously demanded.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Mukuro stated with an idle tone.

"So it wouldn't matter if I kill you?"

"Please," he scoffed, "as if you can."

Byakuran stepped forward and gripped the handle of the dagger. "True, considering that the real you aren't here at the moment; however, I did promise you that I would give you an experience of what death would look like." He then forced the weapon to dig further into the illusionist's chest, causing him to hiss out from the pain. "I'll say this one last time: where is she?"

"And just what makes you think that I would tell you?" Mukuro said before panting heavily. Byakuran frowned, definitely not amused, but no matter. If the man was not going to tell him where Tsuna was, then he might as well answer the question that Byakuran had in mind.

"How were you able to defeat me?"

Mukuro looked up. "What?"

"How were you able to defeat me? How was it that you managed to break the tube and overcome me even in that boy's body? How?" Byakuran inquired.

The illusionist stared back at the eyes of the Millefiore leader, and then chuckled. He inclined his head to the side and simply said, "Love conquers all, I suppose."

With that said, Byakuran killed Greco Guido.

* * *

A/N: So…? Who was the victor? Mukuro managed to free Tsuna, however, Greco Guido was destroyed and thus the illusionist was not able to go any further. Byakuran was able to stop him from going beyond, but lost Tsuna. Hmmm...Anyway, the real case: what will become of Tsuna and Mukuro's subordinates? And what about Byakuran? Will he die? Will he not?

Stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

**Angel Return, Angel Reborn**

**Summary: **Byakuran killed Tsuna, or did he? FEM27all

**Disclaimer: **I do not own KHR. DUR

**Warnings: **This story contains a male and adult Tsuna who transformed into a female and teenaged Tsuna by a mutation experiment. Oh, and Tsuna has wings too. So if you do not like the changes, then you do not have to read.

* * *

The night proved to be quite chilly. Ken gritted his teeth as the cold winds whipped against his numbed cheeks and nose, like nails hammering deeply into his skin, and he was grumbling under his breath beside his companion. Chikusa, however, did not make a single word of complaint, but did admonish his animalistic friend to quiet his whining from time to time. And from time to time, Ken would pout childishly and slump his shoulders, though it still haven't lessened his annoyance of the bitter weather.

It was close to midnight, and already the moon was perched high upon the dark firmament; the luminous sphere radiating an eerie glow whilst the stars embellished the night. The breeze rushed through the trees, making the leaves shake violently and cackle. Transitioning the direction, the winds brushed pass Ken and Chikusa; crows glided along with the winds, screeching to one another.

Chikusa eyed the black swarm and said to Ken, "This way."

"Then that's where Mukuro-sama hid the Decimo?" Ken questioned.

He nodded. "Though he did not specify exactly where the Vongola's location is, so it might require some time before retrieving him."

"So we have to search through the _entire _forest?" Ken cried, throwing his arms in the air.

"Of course." Chikusa turned away to continue walking.

Ken obnoxiously groaned and quickened his pace to even with his companion's. "How are we supposed to find him? Didn't Mukuro-sama say that the guy had an alteration of his physical appearance 'cause he was experimented?"

Chikusa pushed his glasses higher, gaining a glint upon the clear surface. "How often do you see any mutants roaming about in a forest, Ken?"

"But we lived in one once when we were kids, remember?"

Chikusa did not answer, he was currently distracted by another flock of crows gathering at a specific area—it was within a couple feet radius between where the birds landed and the two men. His immediate action was to walk towards the area, which left Ken alone and shocked.

"Hey! Wait for me, Kakipii!"

More crows were advancing the spot, making the area seem more and more obvious. Chikusa narrowed his eyes and fastened his pace, disregarding the shouting that Ken called after him. As he treaded into the mouth of the woods, the glow of the moon vanished, thus leaving an eerie glint of the stars that peeked through the gaps of the forest. It made going down the pathway even trickier without stumbling on his feet with the lack of light, however, with the shrill screeching of crows that filled the tranquility of night, it helped him that much to know where to go.

If there were several flight-borne scavengers making their destination within the forest, then there must be a sign of the Vongola Decimo. After all, the man must be half-dead considering how Mukuro recently released him from his confinement and how the Millefiore scientists were experimenting on him—just like Mukuro, Ken, and himself. Yet, the Decimo must have been suffering much more…Knowing Millefiore Family, the prestigious and notorious mafia; they must have performed something cruel upon the Decimo, hence was contributed with blissful liberation by Mukuro who solely repaid the Decimo just as how the Decimo freed him. And perhaps he would now comprehend the given brutality they endured.

Of course the Decimo must understand. He was tested. He was imprisoned. He was treated unfairly, not like a human but as an experiment. How he was not supposed to understand the situation? However, whilst he is an adult, they were confirmed to be test subjects as children, confiscated of their childhood by men of mafia. They were aliens scrutinized by an evil institute, by the organization that stripped them of their wholesomeness to quench the filthy ambition of those malevolent members. And they were _children_! Innocent children who were taken their right to be children! It repulsed Chikusa utterly, to still see such immorality burning inside individuals lusting to commit a devious deed. Repulsive indeed.

This was what made mafias insignificant to mankind: they were all sinners with unpardonable excuses. It was impossible to condone them of their unforgivable acts for their desire to increase the hate of the world. Mafias. Mafias. Mafias. Disgusting societies of evil deeds. It was astonishing to think that the Decimo was actually a _leader _of such society. Well, eventually he would have his hands tainted with blood and revert into that of a wrathful, greedy monster.

"Oi! Matte!" Ken, surprisingly, managed to follow him without getting lost, which was good considering how it would be a pain locating him. He would likely run around the woods, somewhat panicked that he had gone astray. His hands were clasped upon his knees, panting heavily as he sputtered, "Jeez! What are you rushing for?"

Chikusa turned to Ken. "The Vongola Decimo is probably around here."

"Well you didn't have to run!" he exclaimed. "I had trouble keeping up with you, you know!"

"Lets keep moving."

"Ah! Wait!"

It was strange, but as Chikusa and Ken continued their movement, the forest produced a dim light that evolved its brightness. The brightness was discovered to be a wild fire that devoured the trees, turning them into black skeletons, and the grounds to an orange carpet. The heat was overwhelming, and the two men quickly receded away from the flames that licked towards their direction.

From afar, there was a building, and immediately Chikusa knew what that building was—it belonged to the Millefiore. Or rather, they were on Millefiore property. How come there weren't any guards? And why was that building set afire? What was going on?

"No way. Mukuro-sama did it!" Ken loudly cheered as a wide grin was on his beastly face.

Chikusa blinked. Perhaps…Perhaps Mukuro did this in order to save the Decimo? But why was it necessary to implant a blow upon the quarters of the construction?

Never mind that now. They needed to secure the Decimo.

"Lets go, Ken."

"Oh, right."

Chikusa glanced at the sky, finding trails of crows drifting in the sky and fluttering downwards further from the fire. The persistence of the search commenced again, and eventually they were in the same area as the scavengers. The bespectacled man treaded over the thick roots that budged out of the ground, and Ken was muttering to himself about how difficult it was to hike during the night.

From there, they saw a body lying. Chikusa's eyes widened as Ken gasped, "No way."

* * *

Hibari looked up to see a familiar woman. A bright and cheery woman…How was she worth remembering? What exactly made her familiar to him? He narrowed his eyes. Wait, what did this woman call him? A friend of Tsuna's?

Unexpectedly, the older female bounced towards him, an airy smile mounted upon her face. Instantly, Hibari did not like her and felt unwell by the jolly aura emanating from her. She reminded him of another bright and cheery fellow…one of the Guardians…The Yamamoto Takeshi herbivore? Definitely. And the Sasagawa Ryohei herbivore? Definitely as well. Not to mention the Gokudera Hayato herbivore whenever the Sawada Tsunayoshi herbivore was nearby.

An impulse of getting up and walk away was stifled; there must be some reason for the woman to boldly confront him. But then again, most herbivores that came to him would say something meaningless and a waste of time. He should just leave so that he could avoid hearing whatever the woman needed to say. It wasn't any of importance to him. She wasn't any of importance to him. He should leave right now. But why was that? Why couldn't he patiently hear out what she wanted to voice? It wasn't as if he had anything better to do. Ever since Tsuna died, missions ceased, therefore the deficient of legation for the Vongola name to continue. Henceforth, it would vanish due to the members somberly lingering about like ghosts and not aware of the matter. So why? Why couldn't he allow the woman to speak?

Why? The reason was so obvious: he was tired of hearing worthless, mindless chatter. If she wanted to make a conversation, fine. She just didn't have to talk to him in order to receive a reply. Everyday, herbivores would flap their lips as if they were given additional time—seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, whatever that was adequate for their liking. And because of each inhalation that they took to refuel their unnecessary discussions, the atmospheres stank of herbivores' gusts wafting into his nasals, making him ill and bring him annoyance. What a waste of fine oxygen. And then that oxygen will be reused by more mindless talk and reused again. Soon, after a decade or so, Hibari will die from the contamination of the air he inhaled due to its parasitical-tainted epidemic. It was an infestation that disgusted him utterly. Talk should be only used for a matter of significance.

There was another reason as well. Whatever she wanted to say, how was that beneficial to him? Would it make him more powerful? Would it strengthen his competence of battle? Of course not; she's cannot possibly perform wizardly miracles with a simple command. But what if she had something significant to inform? What if she can tell him how to penetrate the strong forces of the Millefiore? What if she could notify him of the secrets that could influence the Vongola Family? What if she was an agent from the said mafia and was reporting him? Ridiculous. Why would that be it? And it wouldn't be imperative to his musings anyway. Hibari should allow his impulse to act: get up and walk away. There was no reason to hear what the woman needed to say. It wasn't worth his time.

However, he couldn't move. He wouldn't budge from his seat. His muscles wouldn't function, as if they were behaving on their own and was playing defiance against their controller. He just sat their as the woman neared him, the same happy smile mounted upon her face. It was a familiar face that Hibari could not recall. The memory was obscured of the formulating of disciplinary tactics, the missions he always succeeded prior Tsuna's death, his days when he was a middle school student, the infant who emitted an overpowering sensation and the several battles he participated, and the bastard's usual grin. Bastard: Byakuran. His mind was also occupied with each and every Guardian who made an impression on him that would take centuries to forget, but apparently, stuck in the same accommodations, the plan would be tossed into impossibility. And what else was impossible was Tsuna.

The Sawada Tsunayoshi herbivore portrayed to be a peculiar being. At first, he was a nobody; anyone would overlook him for he was hardly worth the acknowledgement. Later, he evolved into someone to be keeping an eye on after his little episode of stripping inside the school boarders. It was soon after he developed into a stronger herbivore with many herbivores surrounding him. He was indeed paradoxical: a mixture of apparent weakness and undeniable strength. There was something about the younger male that makes him questionable. Tsuna managed to defeat Mukuro when they were in middle school, yet sets him free from his prison. The Varia inflicted pain upon him and his herd, yet he radiates no hostility. He had the authority and power to kill, but he does not kill. What is preventing him to do so? It was that that Hibari could never forget about the herbivore; it was as if his sole existence was imprinted into his brain, never able to forget about him.

Tsunayoshi was no longer a coward, Hibari had observed, but a mighty leader with an incredible force constructed of highly potential warriors. And yet why does he place a restraint on this stimulation and motivate the enemy to surrender? To surrender and later befriend with him? Why must Tsuna always see the good in people rather than finishing the work before he would be deceived by the false welcoming gestures? Like Rokudo Mukuro who was likely scheming to posses Tsuna when the time was right. It was obvious and Tsuna was oblivious to it. Was he suffering a fat tumor that infected his brain like how all rabbits suffer? Was the tumor bigger than most tumors? Was that the reason why he was blind to the devious ways of the illusionist?

He was an herbivore; therefore a blemish must demote his intelligence into that of a mindless grazer instead of a carnivore. Nevertheless, he proved to be a value of greatness, but was too gullible for his own good. He was a child even when he turned into an adult a few years ago. He needed to be guided because he could be easily misled. He was innocent, pure, and was full of bloody experience. He was kind, considerate, and sheepish; he hasn't changed much when he was in his early teen years, but matured quite a lot. Due to these traits that most treasured, were captivated by, he believed that he could negotiate with the bastard, but instead had a bullet through his chest by him. Bastard: Byakuran.

How foolish Tsuna was all these years. Too trusting and too naïve. Eventually he would taste his own regret, but death was perhaps a bit too far. How else was he supposed to be aware of deceit? Now dead, he would never know. If it weren't for the many trials he was opposed with, Tsuna would be reluctant and likely still alive. He disregarded the possibilities and jumped ahead, just like this woman who was coming towards him. She didn't know who exactly he was and didn't care. It was as if she didn't see the outcomes of misfortunes, thinking that no harm could come to her when she was asking for a simple request. How stupid. How close-minded. How unpractical. How much like the Sawada Tsunayoshi herbivore.

"Hello!"

She smiled at him and tilted her head. Hibari raised an eyebrow. And then realization dawned upon him. This woman was Tsuna's mother who attended to the graduation ceremony when her son was leaving high school for college. She was also the one who would greet him home after school, treat most of the Guardians with food, and attempted to invite Hibari to a party but he declined the offer. At that time, she mistook him as a friend of Tsuna's when he was forced to accompany him to a training course with the others—she must have seen him then. That was why her face seemed to be familiar.

She tapped her chin in thought. "Hmm. I don't know your name, which is funny because Tsu-kun usually brings home his friends." She clapped her hands together as a brighter smile replaced the genuine one. "Oh well! I'm Nana, Tsu-kun's mom. Who would you might be?"

"Hibari Kyoya," he unconsciously answered.

"Well then, Kyoya-kun," Nana said, lifting up a bag, "want to help me bring these home? I'm making dinner, and, sadly, there's no one else to share with. Want to have a meal with me?"

Should he decline like he did last time?

* * *

A large, black crowd of birds invaded the body, attacking it and ripping its flesh with their red stained beaks. It was horrifying to witnessed ravenous vultures feasting in a vicious manner, as if they weren't going to eat for another decade. It was disgusting to see another human being consumed by a flock of trash-feeders and being tossed around like a rag doll with their mighty teeth and claws. Nevertheless, it was difficult envisioning the body as a man—the birds obscured the figure and it was far too thrashed to be that of one. But in spite of this, it still remained as a revolting image.

"Oh _hell. _That—you pests! Get away! Shoo!" Ken charged at the gathering, driving the birds away. However, they simply fluttered to the side and bounced back to their dinner, completely ignoring Ken. As Ken prepared for another hurtle, Chikusa firmly held him by the shoulder, preventing him to move.

"Ken, stop it. It's no use," Chikusa said.

He grounded his teeth. "B-but! They're eating him!"

"As much I become to detest these birds, we can't stop. We have a duty to accomplish, remember?"

Ken clenched his fists, restraining the urge to rip away from his companion's grip and attack the birds once more. "I…Yeah, I know." He gave one last glance at the body and looked at Chikusa. "So…that wasn't the Vongola?"

"Mukuro-san would know better than to place him in a location where he would become trash-bait. From the looks of the uniform, that man was likely part of the Millefiore. Perhaps a guard or scientist."

"Too bad he ended up in the bellies of blood thirsty mongrels," Ken muttered.

"Yes…"

It was close to midnight, and already the moon was perched high upon the dark firmament; the luminous sphere radiating an eerie glow whilst the stars embellished the night. Though, due to the trees that remained standing away from the fire, they casted a shadow that hindered the glow to evade. What's more, the winds died, reducing the whispers that would brush passes their ears and shakes the leaves violently, causing the silence to shatter for its cackles. The only audible sounds that vibrated their eardrums were the tearing of skin and the gluttonous gulping of the crows.

"If the Vongola isn't here, then where the hell would he be?" Ken said.

* * *

Fernando Grantes, a man of a youthful age of nineteen, was stalking among the boarders of the Millefiore Family and cautiously ducking against the gritty soil that crunched underneath the sole of his boots and his fists. It felt like he was participating in a military camp except this seriously was about life or death. After all, he and some members of the same gang had snuck within the premises of an infamous mafia, thinking that they could steal something valuable, and if they were caught then it could lead to a literal _dead end. _

Unfortunately, they did get caught. Grantes managed to escape whilst the others were occupying the guards—or rather, being beaten to death by them as he was running away. But he didn't know them very well, so it wasn't quite as an act of betrayal. Besides, they wouldn't save his ass if he saved theirs, so what's the point doing a heroic deed? What mattered most was saving his own butt and return to the guild safely.

He tore the bandana off of his head and rubbed the sweat off of his face, and then retied it back on. This undesirable exercise went on for at least a few hours, and it was such a _pain. _His back ached, his legs were cramped, his hands were sore, his feet were burning from being weighed on for a long period of time, and he was extremely exhausted. So exhausted that he could sleep for three days straight. However, the guild leader won't even allow him an adequate amount of blissful slumber. That damned bastard.

Grantes lowered himself upon the ground so that his legs were outstretched and his stomach lying comfortably. He then pushed his elbows upwards, elevating his chest above, and shifted his knee inwards and slowly thrust himself forward. Due to his darkly tanned skin, it had concealed himself with the shades of midnight, making crawling out of the province simpler. However, his thick dreadlocks were continuously caught by twiggy brackens—why didn't he have his entire head shaved off so it would make his life easier? With the large bulge of his muscular arm, he dislodged a strand and continued his crawl.

There were flashing light lit over his head—either the stars or the flashlights that the guards were carrying. But considering that he couldn't take any chances, he hurried to a nearby patch of tall greens and hid there, waiting for his pants to level down. Grantes lurched downward and swallowed the nasty bile that was vomited into his mouth; the training was a bit too intense for his liking. True, he had went through bitter exercises back at the city prior when the guild inaugurated his acceptance as a fellow member due to the metropolitan's impoverish environment; however, it was quite long ago whereas he was a child.

When his panting had gotten softer, he continued to crawl beneath the vegetation. Grantes grunted when he felt a sharp sensation running upon the skin of his arm; something had traced a shallow line and drew out a bit of blood, damping his forearm and reducing his stimulation. He quickly withdrew his arm and hissed at the pain. What had made the cut on his flesh? It was too dark to even see, however, with his hand outstretched to locate of the cause of the infliction so that he wouldn't tumble himself into it again, his fingers were sliced by the familiar twinge and he retreated once more. Grantes narrowed his eyes and caught an obscured vision of a bush, no; it was a tent of vines, giving a vague impression of a hemisphere. The vines must be covered with thorns, hence the minor injuries Grantes have.

It was peculiar. Usually plants do not shape into that shape, but not that Grantes would know that much about plants—his home consisted barely any sort foliage. But it was common sense that vines to be arranged like that could not be by natural, thus man-made. But, considering of its location, why did the Millefiore design their plants so strangely? Is it the leader's fetish for abstract art? How funny.

Grantes moved away from the plant and around it. However, since it was far too dark to avoid it, as his hand reached for ground, he accidentally fell upon the tent and tumbled into some sort of ditch that the vines were arching over. Luckily the ditch was rather shallow so he wasn't hurt badly, but there was a lump making his landing quite uncomfortable. He shifted his position and felt his skin even more torn due to the spikes of the vegetation that he scraped against. Dang it. Today was becoming a terrible day—as if any other day wasn't as terrible. But jeez!

"Shit. Shit. Shit," he chanted in a muttering tone. Grantes stood up and grabbed onto the ledge of the ditch; it was an unfortunate try when he attempted to hoist himself up because his muscles were overworked. And he too was overworked. The youthful man lowered himself onto the ground and slouched; he might as well sleep till he regained his stamina, and perhaps there weren't going to be any guards marching on by while he is napping.

As he nestled himself comfortably, he realized that the ditch has white feathers scattered all over. It was strange; the feathers were rather apparent even when it was pitch dark. He brushed some feathers and leaves away, which revealed a pale child—were those wings?

"Oh shit."

**

* * *

**

**Notification: **Okay, the guy who was being eaten by crows was Guido Greco! And Fernando Grantes should look like Agon Kongo from Eyeshield 21! There! Just wanted to clear that. And also a reviewer just asked me about the third chapter, which was about Mukuro's last line. "Love conquers all", remember? What the reviewer asked me was if Mukuro was in love with Tsuna—he is not. I portrayed him to be sarcastic at the end because, well, Mukuro wouldn't lose his cool. Sorry for the misunderstanding.


	5. Chapter 5

**Angel Return, Angel Reborn**

**Warnings: **male Tsuna turned into female Tsuna.

**Genres: **sci-fi, adventure, action, drama, I guess angst—GOKUDERA!, probable friendship, and romance would happen LATER in the story—like in chapter 18 or something.

Now I know what many are thinking. "What? It says FEM27all! I am so not reading this because it doesn't have romance in it." PLEASE. If I wanted it to be romance, then it would say ROMANCE than adventure/drama. There would be fondness of Tsuna from each male character that spends his time with her, so do not fret. But this is the starting development of the story. If you ever read Brave Story, you would understand. I had to read what seemed like a HUGE chunk of the prologue before getting to the part where the main character takes action. It would be the same for this story—besides, romance doesn't come that quick.

**Disclaimer: **Do not own KHR, except for Grantes and any other made up character you do not recognize. Oh, and I own E'Gasto too.

* * *

Grantes pressed his back against the wall of the ditch, a bead of sweat on his forehead and he gulped. He figured that it was merely a delusion of his eyes due to his exhaustion the other night, therefore took immediate action to fall into slumber, hoping that sleep would bring back his senses. When he woke up, the delusion was still there. This would prove that his weariness did not make him see something ridiculous, but what was before him was quite real.

It was morning—probably the afternoon. The ditch had a second layer of dust and leaves, likely the wind blew a blanket over him during the night. And what an uncomfortable night it was. Grantes was sore, and rolled his shoulders, hearing an unpleasant crack from his stiff joints. A grunt left his lips as he continued to stare at the _thing_. Knowing that he slept in a hole that was also occupied with an _it, _all he could conclude that it was harmless seeing how there weren't any disturbances throughout the night. Perhaps it was dead—it wasn't moving after all.

Grantes stood up and had a difficult time catching his balance, so he placed his hand on the wall to maintain steadiness. While limping to where he threw his leather jacket to retrieve it, his eyes were still on the thing—more like scrutinizing it. The thing took form of a child, a really pale child. Its brown hair was sprawled amid the leaves, like how its white wings were buried as well. Wings. How they got on its back was a mystery. Grantes assumed that the kid was used as an experiment by creeps who stitched those wings on its back.

Taking another step closer, he saw that the child's face was Oriental. His friend Yoh was Asian—Vietnamese to be exact. But the kid was much too pale, or that Yoh happened to be a Vietnamese who was lightly tanned. Grantes wasn't sure, so he assumed that it was…Filipino. He hesitantly neared the thing, and then realized that it wasn't going to do anything because it was likely dead. Grantes then nudged the Filipino kid with the toe of his shoe and received no response. He, doing an inhumane stunt, checked its pulse. There was no pulse.

"It's dead," he concluded. How lovely; he was getting cautious for nothing. Sending one look at the body, Grantes grabbed the edge of the ditch and hoisted himself up, ignoring the pain that shot through his arms.

As he limped away, he couldn't help but get a bugging feeling that the kid shared some relation to the cults back at home. He frowned, now finding it ridiculous. Surely those high-strung preachers wouldn't go that far as to replicate an angel; he was sure that he heard something about angering their god if they attempted to be equivalent with him—he wasn't sure if it worked with the god's angels, but it seemed like it anyway.

Grantes was about to walk away, but he suddenly halted, taking one more glimpse of the kid.

Jeez. What's keeping him?

The young man shook his head and departed from the hole. Once he was nearing the borders of the Millefiore's land, there was a band of men marching towards his way. As they drew closer, Grantes recognized Hammer in front of the group, then running directly to him. "Hey, Fernando!" the seventeen year-old hollered. "Sorry for being late!"

Grantes snorted. "Hell you were!"

Hammer panted, but recovered quickly. "So," the younger male said, "the boss was wondering why you and the others haven't returned last night." He looked around, expecting men to be following behind him. "Where's the crew?"

"Probably got killed by the guards. I don't know; I wasn't there when it happened," Grantes lied smoothly, scratching his head through the dreads.

Hammer, one who was rather gullible to whatever Grantes said, did not appear skeptical. Instead, he nodded, though a sad expression was on his face. "Oh. The boss'll be upset. So…where were you then?"

The two boys walked their way to the group and Grantes replied, "I fell in a ditch and lost consciousness. When I woke up, there was no one." Which was also a lie, unless a dead person was considered as a nobody. Hammer nodded, and Grantes wondered if he truly believed what he had said. Sometimes the excuses he made were somewhat ridiculous, but Hammer would believe despite the fact. It could be because he was the one who rescued the seventeen year-old boy's life, or that, even going through several hardships, naivety still clung onto him.

"Grantes, what the hell man? What took you so long?" shouted Marco, a tall and muscled man with shortly cropped hair. The older glared at the younger, who did not even tremble or wince underneath his intimidating gaze. That was Grantes for you—he always stood his ground. Marco sighed, shaking his head. "You keep disgracing us with your lethargy. Keep at it and the boss'll bound to get rid of you."

"As if I haven't heard that one before," Grantes snorted.

"Whatever. Let's get out of here before we get caught."

* * *

"So, Kyoya-kun," Nana said, "how long have you known Tsu-kun?"

"Ever since middle school," he replied.

The woman seemed to be oblivious to his monotone as she continued cheerfully, "Wow! You two must be close then; just like Hayato-kun and Takeshi-kun, Tsu-kun met them in his middle school years and they're still friends!"

Hibari nodded, though uninterested about what she was blabbing about. He was only listening with half a mind while the other half was occupied by thoughts of whether Nana was actually an assassin sent by the Millefiore to take his life. In the duration of his years in the mafia, he experienced that one should not allow oneself to lower his caution; otherwise the enemy could pounce on him with ease. Not that Hibari ever lowered his defense—his sense of canniness was acute.

However, in the process of walking with the woman to her house and not really regarding to what she was saying, he got the impression that Nana was a complete airhead with no logic of danger. Obviously, you don't walk up to a man who you hardly know and invite him to your warm abode. That would be incredibly stupid. This woman is incredibly stupid. However, in the process of walking with the woman to her house and not really regarding to what she was saying, he got the impression that Nana was not someone who would judge—though quite stupid and a complete airhead nevertheless.

Really, who would do something like that? This was why everyone was a simple-minded herbivore.

"You know, before Tsu-kun had Hayato-kun and Takeshi-kun as friends, he was often picked on. My, if only those two had come sooner, then Tsu-kun would have been much happier when he was younger," Nana sighed, her hand to her cheek. "But it's a good thing that they came anyway. Though, it is kind of weird that Tsu-kun never befriended Takeshi-kun before; after all, they were classmates ever since the first day of their first year in middle school. I think it the start of their friendship was after Reborn came."

"Hn."

"You know, I think that Reborn was aware about Tsu-kun being lonely and helped Tsu-kun make friends. I guess he wasn't just a tutor on academics." Nana then smiled happily. "Ever since Tsu-kun graduated high school, I haven't seen Reborn anymore. I wonder where he is and what's he doing."

"Hn."

"I bet he's off somewhere in Italy; he did say that it was his home, after all. Reborn must be traveling, or maybe he's tutoring again. Strangely, right after Tsu-kun graduated, Reborn didn't say anything special after his mysterious departure." Nana rubbed her chin, doing a ridiculous impression of a professional detective. "Quite a mystery indeed."

Hibari stiffened. Why was this woman continuously blabbing about the infant? He glanced at her expression, evidently oblivious and care-free. Needless to say, this woman was not informed about the Arcobaleno's fate. He nearly was convinced of lowering his caution nevertheless. Although, Nana's ditzy actions and speech patterns had proven that she was indeed Tsuna's mother. It also lessened his suspicion that she was an assassin.

"Anyway, if he's at Italy, I hope he would come back really soon. I'm starting to miss him already," Nana went on. "And when he returns, I also hope that he would bring me a souvenir!" When they entered through a neighborhood, she eventually stopped in front of a house—Tsuna's former abode. "Well, this is it."

Nana opened the door and gestured Hibari to come in. The young man took one last look behind him, and then entered the house, wondering what in the world is he doing.

* * *

Fernando Grantes had no idea what the hell he was doing.

About a week ago, he was nestled inside the headquarters of his guild, hearing the older men blabbing about boring tales that they apparently encountered or experienced. To think that he would be relieved to get away from the Millefiore's land, but there was a bugging feeling.

The kid's face was in his mind.

At first it was an annoying notion that gave him nightmares or insomnia. The questions that he had were picking on him, causing him to go restless. He wondered why a dead kid was giving him problems. It wasn't as if he killed it or did anything to it. He just left it as it was.

Then there were thoughts relating to the cults. If he told the boss about the kid, then their guild could use it to their advantage, and Grantes would more than likely get a benefit. He would be promoted to second-in-command, probably.

But at the same time, he didn't want to tell anyone about his discovery. He wanted to keep it to himself, and then ponder whether he should tell someone or not. Well, definitely not Marco; the geezer was devoted to the boss, stuck to the big man like an ant to honey. Of course he would leak the information, despite Marco being someone who Grantes knew for a long time. But it doesn't mean he could go far as to trust him in everything. Hell no.

And then the thought about the body being discovered by the Millefiore guards disturbed him. He didn't know why it bothered him, but it just did.

It was just his nature: Finders keepers, losers weepers.

Grantes found it first, therefore it was his. Even if it happened to be a dead kid with wings attached. But hey, it could make him millions some day.

So on that night, Grantes snuck out, to Millefiore grounds, and tried to find the same ditch where he had fallen.

Even through the thoughts and self-agreement, he still didn't know what he was doing.

* * *

There was a large city called E'Gasto. Above the city were skies that were often painted in a dark gray hue; likely the origination of this was due to the industrial atmosphere that polluted the natural blueness into a dull pigment. Implanted upon most of the city's surface were coppery and silvery buildings that were constructed with incredible heights, shadowing the citizens and surroundings.

Whilst the inauguration of manufacture has been developed throughout the years, hence the atmosphere and several structures, the extinction of plants commenced in that duration; there were barely any noticeable vegetation—everything upon the city was a mechanic-engineering environment, therefore the surface could only produce the strongest of weeds.

Occupied by these dead-end passages were either the homeless or gangs. Sometimes, if they were feeling idle and nonchalant, they would peacefully gather around a weak fire and warm themselves, however, a fight would initiate if one or the other would retort a sentence that would provoke a bloody fist-battle.

It was a rather poor metropolitan, nevertheless, the population never ceased. Nor does any sort of depraved actions: theft, prostitution, violent interactions, inequitable marketing, and homicidal practices—usually with cults or criminal hooligans. There were no justice forces to draw out the sinful intentions, nor a government to preside over the residents. Though the only individuals who did have a sense of righteousness (whether right or wrong logic) were those who either led or followed certain guilds which are divided into three various types: cults that hold a powerful belief on Lord Aire, gangs that strongly support liberation and the emancipation of persistent cults' preaching, and an assemble of individuals who are grouped together like a family or a tribe—the more neutral guilds.

Chikusa lifted his glasses and idly flipped through the pages. He never did find economical studies to be interesting; however, the history of E'Gasto and its current state was somewhat intriguing, especially the culture. The cultural development was ambiguous: there were groups that worshiped a fake god and completely different groups who denied the religion.

The cults, generations ago, developed a fabrication of such god in order for their children to not be misled by defiance—the influence of the city's population of impoverish and cantankerous, thus the initiation of such desperate attempt. However, they did not suspect that the descendents would take this religion literally; and apparently alterations were developed prior time. With astonishing features added to the strongly believed Lord Aire—a god who was said to strike down his foes and cast his angels to protect the believers—the people awe and worship such fictional creation.

The gangs were headset upon receiving and giving freedom. Their main opponents were the followers of Lord Aire, which battles would erupt between the two basic guilds. But if they wished to stray from the cults, then why do they continue living in the same city? Or why not try to overpower them? Chikusa flipped to the next page and read a section that described about how the two types of guilds would commence battles, arguments about what was right and wrong, and the attempt of influencing one another. Of course, they couldn't just run away; they had to do something about it.

"Are you done yet? Can we go now?" Ken called loudly what seemed like the umpteenth time.

Chikusa shut the book and walked up to the old man who was busy placing books upon shelves. "I would like to purchase this book," he said.

"Oh, you found one? Well, let me see it," the bookshop owner said. He handed the thick book to the elder, waiting as the owner eyed the cover and the spine. Then he opened it and ran his wrinkled finger across the brown-tinted page. "_The History of E'Gasto _by Pablo Fasuo. My, it's been a while since I read this. You know, this was the only book published; there were no copies."

"How do you know?" Chikusa asked curiously, but mostly just to amuse the old man.

"Because Pablo was a good friend of mine. He was an adventurous coop that he was," the owner said, a twinkle shown in his crinkled eyes. "He ventured throughout the world and learned several things about each country. But what interested him the most was E'Gasto. Surely you have heard about this city?"

"The most dirtied city in Italy? Of course. Yet have I not known that much about it is also true."

"Well, if you read that book you would know much more about that city. Pablo actually traveled there and nearly got himself killed by the cults. Luckily he was saved by a group of freedom fighters. It was a rocky stay, however; the environment was just too unstable. But in the time of his stay, he spoke to the elders and learned so many things about E'Gasto, and then wrote this book about the city."

"Was the book known publically after being published?"

"For a little while; folks just don't seem to be interested in E'Gasto." The old man closed the book and handed it back to Chikusa. "Anyway, it's a dusty thing so I'll be giving it to you for free."

Chikusa raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Of course! If Pablo were to be here, he would rant out on how I completely merchandized his hard work. He would be happier if there was a young lad taking his time to read _The History of E'Gasto_."

"Well then, thank you for giving this to me."

"No problem, lad," the owner said good-naturedly. "Come back anytime now."

When the two young men exited the bookshop, Ken grumbled, "I don't see why we had to go in there. It smelled funny, like cheese sitting out in the sun for decades."

"I'm surprised that you know what aged cheese smells like," his bespectacled companion commented.

Ken had his arms crossed behind his head. "I'm just saying. It really did smell weird in there!" Then he frowned. "Besides, what's so special 'bout that book? I thought you weren't interested in geometry."

"It's geography," Chikusa corrected, "and I'm not, but concerning how the Decimo is in E'Gasto I might as well become familiar of how the community thrives and such."

"Nerd," Ken snorted. "Anyway, since Mukuro-san said that the Vongola transferred his location due to whatever, we better hurry and fetch the guy."

"And why is that?"

The animalistic male grimaced slightly. "'Cause the residents are shitheads. Went there during a mission and it wasn't pretty."

"Ken, what's the possibility of us getting there in time or something already happened to the Decimo?"

"What? What are you talking about? Algebra?"

Chikusa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. "Never mind what I said," he muttered monotonously. The other male shrugged and continued to look onward.

**A/N:** I SWEAR ON MY GRAVE that this huge chunk of a prologue will end soon and Tsuna will make her awakening, and then bam!—you got meet 'n greets. WITH GRANTES! And Chikusa and Ken! And then the adventure will start then. Till now my friends, I trust that you won't throw threats and me. Ow. I stubbed my toe. Dangnabbit, why'd I put that here? I shrug.

PLEASE AND THANK YOU!


End file.
